


Vanilla and chamomile

by pearlverdantvibrant



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-The Final Problem, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27932167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlverdantvibrant/pseuds/pearlverdantvibrant
Summary: Sherlock and Molly after the phone call. Molly needs time and Sherlock needs to sort out his feelings.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 21
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,  
> I hope you'll like this story. If there's any grammar or spelling mistake, please forgive me, it'll get better I promise. :)

After Molly put the phone down on the kitchen counter, she closed her eyes and stood quietly. She didn't cry, just stood still with her eyes shut, breathing. Her thoughts raced to different sides, and she was unable to do anything but stand and begin to process what had happened. She was completely shocked. What just happened? Did she really tell Sherlock she loved him? After all this time? What made her betray her feelings like that and make her life so difficult? But he sounded so urgent... why did he want to know? What did he gain by all this? Did he want to see her in pain? Had he no case, so he thought of tormenting her? And why did she want him to say it first? Stupid, stupid Molly. What did it get her? Just pain, because she knew it wasn't honest. She knew that well, she wasn't so naive. Oh, God, no, she can't stay here. At last, she stopped standing idly by. Distraught, she wiped away the tears that covered her face and, with eyes full of pain, thought of what to do. She wanted to go for a walk, leave this apartment, and leave it all behind. Then her gaze fixed on the tea, which had cooled already. It made her remember how bad her headache was and how weak she felt. She took the mug and heated the tea in the microwave.

She felt tired, used. Why are her feelings so inferior to Sherlock? Why did he make her say something like that? Does he not know what all of this means to her? How can she look him in the face now? It must be clear to him that their friendship was so valuable to her that she hid her feelings as best she could. Will he trust her now? Does she even trust him? Her eyes fell on the stupid phone again. No new messages, no missed calls, obviously. What was she thinking, Sherlock never explained himself unless the situation was unbearable.. to himself. This made her even sadder as she turned her phone off. How quickly those three words can reverse an age-old friendship. Molly wanted to chuckle, but her mind was too empty for that. She was sure of one thing. She didn't want to see anyone now or hear from anyone. She just wanted to curl up and cry, yes, that would help her.. but that was the old Molly.

The new Molly, though sick, exhausted, and incredibly disappointed, would face things head-on. The new Molly was way more fearless. Damn, she even slapped Sherlock once. She can do this. She has to... What is it that can she work with? Okay, she told Sherlock she loved him. The words that never meant to be spoken were out. She really didn't want to face him now though. She needs to be cured, she needs a change of scenery. She took a mindless sip of tea and walked over to the living room sofa. After she sat down, she wrapped herself in a blanket and just stared blankly on the wall in front of her. She couldn't just leave her life, her job in the lab which she loved. Loved... heh. Treacherous word. She couldn't just leave, give up her job, move out. As cruel as Sherlock is to her, she couldn't leave Mrs Hudson, John, Rosie. They were her friends, her second family she liked to think.

Could she just cut Sherlock out of her life? Probably not, all her loved ones were close to him, too, unless she counted her friends in Bart‘s. No, no Sherlock right now. This hurts. She couldn’t bear to think of him. But admitting the truth is the first way to succeed, her grandmother used to say. Her thoughts turned to her grandmother, the memories bathed in sunlight, laughter, and warmth were giving her a feeling of comfort. The hot tea warmed her so much that she decided to go to bed with mixed emotions, but she did not feel the strength to rise. She stretched out comfortably on the couch, hoping sleep would overwhelm her. Just before she fell asleep, she couldn't help noticing that her cheeks were covered in tears again.

When she woke up, her apartment had long since been shrouded in darkness. She switched on the lamp next to the couch sleepily and thought about washing up and moving to the bed. Her sleep was as restless as her day. At least she wasn't feeling so bad physically anymore, but mentally she was freezing. Her mouth felt unusually dry. She got up and went into the kitchen thinking she'd have a glass of water and go back to bed. Just as she was pumping water, there was a pounding on the door. She winced and dropped the glass in the sink. The knock came again, more urgently.

"Molly, open up." There was a deep voice behind the door. Molly quickly stopped the water and walked over to the door. She knew who was behind them, and she had no idea why he had come to see her. She took a cursory look at the clock, it was 3:30 in the morning. "Molly," he said gently. "Please, Molly. I know you're awake."

Molly took a deep breath, and with the thought that she might turn around and go into the bedroom, she stood nervously outside the door with her hand on the handle.

Sherlock stood at the door, waiting. He knew Molly was on the other side, he'd heard some noise before, so there was no way she hadn't heard it. He tried to call her, texted her, but he didn't get any answers. Not that he's expecting one. He was running out of patience. As he began to contemplate kicking down the door, there was finally a click of the lock, and Molly was standing in front of him.

She looked beautiful. Her hair was unkempt, but they still gave the impression of a ponytail he saw on camera a few hours ago, only messier than before. Her cheeks were red, her eyes puffy, her face tired. She looked at the ground, didn't even look at him. Her clothes were the same as before, a striped sweater and grey trousers. She didn't step aside, she didn't invite him in. So he stood still and did not know what to say for a while, only his eyes tried to analyze what was in front of him.

"You're sick." It was not a question, but a statement of the situation. The tea she was making earlier had already told him the situation, but he had no idea how much he had made her condition worse. Molly didn't look at him, she just nodded her head. "Can I come in?" He asked slowly, in a soft tone.

He didn't want to scare her, he didn't want her to shut him down. He needed to talk to her, he wanted to explain. He was sure she had questions. Molly finally looked at him.

"Not like I have a choice, you always do what you want." She said, turned around and left the door open as she walked back into her apartment. That's when he understood.

She didn't have any questions. She resigned. There was so much bitter disappointment in that view, a loss of respect that he didn't expect. He was waiting for an alluded Molly, who would be like a pile of misfortune, and after explaining the situation to her, she would understand everything and be back to the way she was. Guess he misunderstood way more things these days.

He stepped into the apartment and followed her to the kitchen, where she got a new glass of water. He stood there awkwardly and tried to remember the speech he prepared in the cab, but there was no use. His mind was against him. He could only think about how he disappointed her.

"Sherlock, you don't really need to say anything, I don't wanna hear it. So just say what you wanna say and please, go." She finally faced him, her expression blank.

"You didn't answer my texts. I.. I wanted to-" he started, totally unaware of what he was going to say. He stopped as he watched her expression go from _just get over with it_ to _what are you talking about_ and _oh_. She took her phone from the counter and turned it back on in front of him.

"I... I turned it off after..." She didn't bother saying more. She didn't need to, Sherlock took that as an option when he couldn't reach her.

"Yes." He replied, not knowing how to start a conversation he didn't want to mess up.

Molly quickly looked at her phone and saw some new messages from Sherlock, John and even Greg, but didn't bother to read them.

"John and Greg are alright," Sherlock said before she could ask. "They tried to reach you just as I did, thinking you might be avoiding me."

He looked at her, eyes pleading for help. _Please, don't shut me out_ , he thought. She was so cold, he didn't expect that at all. His Molly, his friend who saved him more than once. He disappointed her, she didn't trust him, he lost her- That's when he lost it.

All of his wounds cracked open and tears started falling out of his eyes. He started shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. The next thing he knew, her arms were around him. He felt comfort. It was warm. Feeling her so close to him, her scent of vanilla and just her made him lose everything he's been holding up together in front of John, Greg and Mycroft. Only Molly had him really lose it. The thought that he saved her and lost her at the same time was just too much. His sister was really a genius, making him lose by winning. His sister. Eurus... Redbeard, John, Molly. _Oh god_ , he thought. _Rosie could've been an orphan_ . _Mycroft could've died. Molly could've died-_

"Sherlock! Sherlock, what's going on?" Her voice was alarmed and soft at the same time. He always wondered how she could be so kind and practical at the same time. Molly watched him horrified as he slowly sat on the floor with uncontrollable sobs. She became alert and forgot in a minute why she was so distant and sad and angry. He needed her, that was all her heart heard and her body and mind reacted the way they wanted. She held him, held him for long minutes. He returned her hug, shaking and mumbling some words she didn't understand. He felt her warmness, her kindness and that all made him feel even worse. He hated how much she was hurt.

They sat on the floor for half an hour. They didn't speak, they were both thinking about their own issues. Finally, Molly helped Sherlock stand up and gently took his arm. Not his hand, that would be too intimate for her. Without words, she took off his heavy coat and let it slide on the floor. He seemed like he didn't realize at all. _He's not okay. Something horrible must've happened_.

Molly, with her hand on his arm, made a few steps away. He followed her, as she hoped. She led him slowly to her bedroom, helped him lay down. He absent-mindedly took off his shoes and turned around on her bed. Just as Molly put some blanket over him, she noticed how his breathing became steady and calmer. Good, she thought. Even though she was more curious than ever about what happened, she wouldn't even think about waking him up and demanding answers. She watched him as he fell asleep, just to make sure he would. Then she realized how tired she was herself. The alarm on her night table showed 4:50 AM.

 _Well, that's a good time to go to sleep_ , she thought bitterly as she returned to her living room and laid on her sofa. Sleep took quickly over her.

### \--

Sherlock had a nightmare. He was reliving the whole trial over again and was even more helpless than before. He woke up all sweaty and confused as to where he is. The sheets weren't familiar and smelled way nicer than his or John's. The bed was also more comfortable than he was used to, the room smelled differently too. Something like vanilla and chamomile-

He was at Molly's. Suddenly it all came back to him. He went to Molly to explain everything but suddenly the weight of everything has finally gotten down on him.

He looked beside him at the other half of the bed. He didn't expect her to be there, but still couldn't help but feel something he didn't recognize. Was it sadness? Disappointment? Could he be disappointed she didn't lay beside him? How could he? It would be awkward. Unusual. Still, seeing her okay first thing after he woke up would probably put him in ease.

He slowly got up and strolled down to the living room. He saw her, sleeping soundly at the sofa and mentally slapped himself. He took her bed and let her stay in the living room. As ashamed as he felt he couldn't help but feel a wave of admiration towards her. Always so selfless, always willing to help. That was the epitome of Molly.

He slowly moved to the kitchen counter and looked at his phone. 8:17 AM. He should be somewhere else. Sherlock looked out of the window at the city he loved so much. It was going to rain soon, he could see it in the way people walked the street and the way the city was busy as to get everything done just before it does.

He hesitated. One part of him wanted to just go back to the bedroom, put on shoes and his coat and run away from her. It's not like he didn't have other stuff to attend to - he promised Greg he would come and explain everything once again on record, with Mycroft present to make sure it was all staying as private as it could. He almost made a decision to go through this as planned, but once he looked at Molly, curled on the sofa under a pink blanket, so desperately trying to remain asleep, he couldn't bring himself to leave. Not before he was done here.

He texted Mycroft he would not be attending the meeting and told him not to worry. At the same time, he replied to John's text saying he's with Molly and she's fine. Then he put his phone in his pocket and reached for two cups to make tea.

Molly woke up to a smell of freshly brewed tea. She was unsure as to what has caused this amazing smell, but couldn't bring herself to open her eyes just yet. She wanted to stay just as she was, didn't want to face the day before her. But as her senses started to become more alert, she finally opened her eyes. 

What she saw was completely out of her imagination. Behind her kitchen counter was Sherlock, leaning back against the sink and sipping his tea silently.

Molly was sure she was dreaming. Then she remembered how she helped him yesterday and put him in her bed. He looked at her and smiled. "I made you tea. Didn't know you liked raspberry that much."

Molly stood up and walked to the kitchen. Of course, she liked raspberries. Why would he- oh. The tea. She realized she had mostly raspberry teas at home and only one package of English black tea, so that must be what he was referring to. _Oh Molly, wake up._

 _"_ Thanks," was all she said and took a small sip. It wasn't hot but not cold either and tasted amazing. She took another sip. "Did you sleep well?"

He put his empty mug to a sink and turned to face her. "Probably as well as I could at this situation."

She didn't know what that was supposed to mean but nodded. As she took in his tired appearance, she thought he probably didn't sleep that well. At the same time, she realized what she must look like herself.

"I think I should finally explain everything," Sherlock said and pulled her out of her thoughts. "And I should apologize for making you sleep on the sofa."

Molly knew she couldn't leave just now even though she wanted to, so she made a hopeless attempt to make herself look more civilised as Sherlock walked past her to sit in the living room. She loosened her hair and followed him back to the sofa.

\--

"Sherlock, I don't know what to say," Molly said quietly. After she listened to everything Sherlock had to say, she could barely comprehend everything. Sherlock had a sister? Well, who was she to judge him, he didn't know either. Well, technically. He even began to remember some pieces of his childhood as he was telling her about Redbeard and Eurus.

One moment it seemed like he'll lose it again and Molly now totally understood. She sat quietly beside him, no contact with him at all. She expected him to be just as logical as he always is, tell her some ridiculous tale and be on his way. _But that wouldn't really add up with his behaviour yesterday_ , she thought.

The word Eurus was one of the first ones to leave his mouth once he started talking.

"You should know I never meant to hurt you in any way. Eurus- my sister, her name is Eurus," he paused and glanced at her with eyes full of something she couldn't understand, "She... well. She took me, Mycroft and John to put us in some sort of trial. People got hurt, you are one of them."

She listened and listened for what seemed like hours. It was so bizarre, like a detective story of a bad Hollywood writing. _Well, he is a detective, after all_ , came to her mind.

When Sherlock started talking about someone called Redbeard, he paused several times and smiled sadly. She didn't remember who that was or why was he so tense about it, but let it go. He clearly wasn't ready to share that with anyone and it all seemed too much for one person to accept in just a few hours.

"You don't have to say anything, Molly." Sherlock was still looking at her with soft eyes. "I just needed you to know the reasons behind my actions. I can imagine what you must've thought of me after that call, but as you see, I had to solve all this before I could explain myself."

Molly looked at her lap. She understood. Lives were at stake, of course, the phone call would be a minority now.

"I get it, Sherlock, you don't need to do this," she said, eyes still on her lap. She tried to gain back her posture and not show how vulnerable she was. "Where's Eurus now, anyway? And what about others, are they okay?"

"Eurus is back where she was. Safe, but I can't guarantee it, she got out more than once, probably." His hand went through his messy hair desperately. "John is okay, he'll get through it. Even though he blamed himself for the man's wife's death, but after he saw how Eurus killed the three brothers even though I judged them correctly, I think he knows she would kill her anyway."

He was more thinking to himself than talking to her. She was horrified. So many people died, for nothing. It was awful for her just to think about it.

They sat and talked for quite some time. Molly occasionally asked some question which Sherlock eagerly answered almost as if he was scared if he wouldn't, she would turn away from him. It was around 1:00 PM when she realized how hungry she felt.

"Do you fancy some chips? Or we can go somewhere else if you'd like-" Sherlock was quickly on his feet and already went to take his coat. Molly was startled a bit, but she regained her consciousness quite quickly.

"Sherlock, I-" she stood up as well, "I think I need to be alone for a while-"

"Alone?" Sherlock looked at her, a bit of panic in his eyes. Molly shifted from foot to foot. "But I told you everything."

"I know, Sherlock, I appreciate it." She tried to explain herself without looking at him. "I just... it's all too much. I'm tired, emotionally drained and even though what you just told me- and don't get me wrong, I am eternally grateful your motivation was to save me- Sherlock I-"

"Molly, no." Sherlock took a step towards her, his body moving forward without knowing what he was going to do, but when Molly took almost simultaneously step back, he froze.

She looked at him, with tears in her eyes. "I know this must be very hard for you. God, I don't know what I'd do if I was you. And I'm so sorry you had to go through this, but-"

She desperately looked around her. "But I just can't be there for you just as I used to be. I need some time alone, Sherlock."

She felt horrible for saying this to him but part of herself was feeling proud. She knew he needed someone, but it just couldn't be her. She didn't mean to sound harsh or selfish, goodness, she even thought she should talk to someone. But she doubted she could do much to help him more than she already has- she deserved to be selfish once. She also needed to heal, to make time for herself to process things.

"Are you..." he said softly, trying not to show how much he cared for an answer, "Are we still friends?"

She sighed and took another step back with her arms protectively around her. She was silent for a while. "I don't know."

He nodded, trying to be as neutral as he could. He didn't want to torture her anymore, he wanted her to feel at ease, even if that meant him not being around her. With this thought, he went for the door.

With his hand clenched into a fist in his pocket, he turned around once more, just to see her wipe her eyes with her sleeve. And with that image burned into his memory, he left. 


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as the door closed behind him, Molly no longer resisted, letting the tears flow. How awful! What Sherlock must have suffered. She couldn't understand how he kept his feet at all, and her heart was weeping over how, even in this situation, he had come to her and told her everything in detail. This was all too much. Eurus could have killed her, too, with the snap of a finger. Molly was sure it would actually be very easy to get explosives into her apartment. She hardly ever used to be at home. Yesterday, she was after a long time taking the day off from the hospital because of health problems.

At that moment, crazy thoughts came to her. Was she really sick, or was it all the work of Eurus? She wondered frantically if she had eaten anything unusual or met someone clearly ill. Startled, she looked around the apartment. Sherlock had assured her that the cameras had been disabled and the explosives were not in her apartment, but she still felt unsafe. She hurried into the bedroom and took out her travel bag. She tossed in random clothes she found handy and things she found useful. Bottle of water, toothbrush, shower gel, brush, another sock, charger...

She stopped and looked at the mess she was leaving behind. That's enough, Molly, think about it. It's not like you to run like that. Instead, she left the bag where it was, changed into jeans, picked up her scarf, jacket, and headed out of the apartment that seemed so tight to her right now.

As soon as she left the building, she slapped herself mentally for not bringing an umbrella. Raindrops fell on her face, and people bumped into her as they tried to get to some shelter before the real London rain began. Good thing she decided to just go out, how ironic. But she needs to clear her head before she takes any major steps.

Still, Molly had nowhere to go. She didn't have many friends, even though she tried to be nice and kind. She blamed this part on her time-consuming work, which left her only a little space for anyone else. That made her remember her breakup with Tom- even though _time_ was just one of their many problems. She always thought she had no other friends because her private life had always been filled with Sherlock, John, Mary and their crew. Ever since Mary died, Molly has fully embraced raising little Rosie.

Rosie was her sunshine. She tried not to see her as her own daughter, the memory of Mary too vivid in her mind. She saw her as her niece, as the little angel in her life. John was a good friend of hers. When Mary died, she saw him in the worst mental state he might have been capable of. At times she was afraid that John would cut Sherlock off completely, that the two would never reconcile, but after seeing John play with Rosie as the little one put a smile on his face, she knew that everything would be all right. That made her realize that everything would be good for Sherlock now. Even for John. They'll get over it. Rosie was the anchor for both of them.

By the time she came to this conclusion, she was soaking wet. The wind began to blow mercilessly, and her stomach growled. She was really hungry. She noticed that she had come a long way through London during her inner dialogue, to the square where she had spent so much time studying. She turned into one of the streets where her favourite cafe was located. The waiter waved a cheerful greeting at her, and she returned it with a forced smile. She sat down in a chair by the window and didn't bother to look at the menu, she knew the place like nowhere else. Maybe just a lab, but it was a lot nicer here.

"Hello, sweetheart," Another waiter said, "Shall we bring you a towel or something?" Molly was dripping water on the floor. She smiled at him and shook her head, saying that the heater near her chair was just fine. The waiter smiled at her. H was old and she knew him well, for years actually. He always called her sweetheart, something only her grandmother used to do. She liked him.

After they exchanged a few sentences about the health of their families and acquaintances, Molly ordered a pie and hot chocolate. He brought both in a moment, and Molly picked up the cup. She watched from the window as the street lit up with coloured umbrellas and sank back into her own thoughts.

She could visit her home village. A weekend in Scotland would certainly be good for her. Her family still owned the house she grew up in with her grandmother after her parents died. If she remembered correctly, they had once had a cat. These memories should be mournful to her, but she protected them in her mind.

Even before she swallowed the last bite of the pie, she was determined. She's going to Scotland. Not forever, of course. But at least for a few days. She'd been planning this for years, but she'd never set out to do it. Either her job was stopping her, Sherlock, Tom... and now he's finally gonna do it. Her packing was almost ready, and she could leave at once. She felt wonderful to finally be a lady of her own time. She quickly texted her boss to see if he could spare her for about a week. The answer came almost immediately. 

_Of course, Molly. Are you at least feeling better now than you were yesterday? H._

She smiled at her phone and truthfully replied she was, and that she was going away for a few days. After this confirmation, there was no going back. Her wet clothes felt awful on her, it was time to go back to her place. And after that, she was going to Scotland. Today.

\--

"What did you expect, Sherlock?" John told him solicitously. 

"I don't know. Probably something different from this," replied Sherlock, still in no mood to explain himself to his friend. He watched silently as John carried little Rosie up to her room.

When he came back from Molly's apartment, he slammed the door behind him and refused to talk to anybody. He didn't get it. Has he done something wrong? He told her, he thought he explained. Maybe he forgot something.

After a while, there was a soft knock on the door. "Sherlock?"

John was standing behind the closed door, worried for his friend. He knew how much nervous Sherlock was, and was even more curious about how it all went. After he took his leave, Mrs Hudson came to him and they talked for hours. It was up to him to explain everything to her, but Mrs Hudson lived with them long enough not to be surprised for more than just a few minutes. After all, she knew Sherlock the longest, that woman had some guts. After a few minutes, he gave up and took his daughter upstairs to her room.

Sherlock was still in his room, laying on a bed and travelling through his mind palace. He tried to recall the feelings he had. Why did it bother him so much how Molly saw him now? When did he ever care what anyone thought of him? He was just fine when people didn't turn away from him in times of need and that was all. He cared what John thought of him, but that was because he took him as a family and cared for John. But did he really care for Molly?

She totally had him when he was forced to say the "I love you" to her. But he didn't have much time to analyze this, her life was at stake. He said it, a little surprise for himself, but didn't recall it would have that much impact on him.

Truth is, once he said he loves her, he couldn't just take it all back. And most importantly, he didn't want to. He cared for her, that was for sure. But now, a friend? A sister? No, that's too messy. It wasn't a brotherly feeling he had. It was true when she was dating whatever his name was, he recognized some patterns that could count either as jealousy or brotherly protection. But he didn't care! The feelings were there, so what. 

But now, when it was clear Molly didn't want to see him, at least for now, he was a mess. He was unsure, pacing around. His mind wasn't clear, it was like something little was slightly poking him in his head and he couldn't concentrate on anything else.

He knew one thing for sure. Yesterday and today weren't enough. He had to see her, he wanted to see her. He wanted to talk to her, make her laugh, be with her. Not _be_ with her. Just her presence around him was enough to make him feel better, he was certain about that.

He got up from bed with a decision to go to her when he remembered her puffy face and red eyes. That's all it took to make his courage run out of the window. He sat back on the mattress and put his head into his hands.

That was frustrating. Two years back, he would be happily walking around London, looking for criminals and everything would be back to normal. Now? Even if there was a client, he would turn him away and go to Molly instead. She was his weak spot. Was it like that always or did Eurus make him like that?

He took his coat once more and called a cab for himself. Maybe his sister would throw some light on the events. He wanted to visit her anyway, why not now? And with that without saying a word to John or anyone for that matter, left.

\--

She walked alone. It was dark around there, but Molly wasn't afraid, she knew her way. 

In Luss, a memorable village in Scotland, she was at peace. Her family used to live there and she vaguely remembered her sweet childhood years and how she spent almost every summer there, away from her mother and father who fought all the time. Her grandmother made her the happiest Molly she'd ever been.

As she walked through the village with her heavy bag which she put from one hand to the other frequently, she couldn't help but feel relief. She heard the water further away and made a mental note to take a walk the first thing in the morning to that marvellous place.

Almost everything stayed the same. That's what she loved about old villages, anything hardly changed there. People were born here, lived here peacefully and grew old. Her grandmother was one of those people. She was born here, raised her son here and expected him to become a solid member of the community just as her late husband. But when her son, Molly's father, decided to elope to London where he met her mother, grandma wasn't against it. She understood this way of life wasn't for everyone and made sure her son had everything he needed for a comfortable life in London. At least that's what her father told her before he died. Her mother was different from her grandma, they didn't get along. But Molly didn't care, she loved both of them tremendously. But nothing could make her as happy as this sweet place, where stone walls were covered by leafy green plants and old country roads were dusty and covered in mud when it rained. It had all its beauty which she learned to admire.

Her place was near and she felt her hands trembling under the weight of her bag. Molly thought why the hell did she bring so much stuff with her. It was getting cold slowly and she finally saw one of the many houses which all looked the same. Stone walls, old bricks laying around a bush of lavender and other green plants which names she never learned to remember. This made her think how her grandma loved all the plants, all the flowers, even those which always ruined her growing vegetables in the little garden behind the house.

As she walked to the door, she thought if the key was still at the same place. It made her chuckle. It would all be too ironic if she made it all the way down there and couldn't get in. Typical, it would be her typical day actually. Maybe her destiny wouldn't want her to be selfish for once and this would be her punishment. 

She slowly raised her hand to the wall where one of the stones was pushed back more than the others. Her hand felt the cold key placed where it always has been and she smiled. Everyone in the village knew that the key was there, anyone could've come to the house and take anything they wanted. But people there were kind and compassionate, not like those London power-hungry monsters. No, this was her heaven. 

She opened the door and walked into a small hallway. She stood there for a while and tried to inhale the atmosphere this place has held since her childhood. It was like greeting an old friend.

As she adjusted herself by taking off her heavy raincoat and placed down the bag, she turned on the light which led her into a small living room.

The light green walls were all dusty and the flower pattern on the curtains could barely be visible. The vase by the window was full of already dried flowers and the view was impossible to admire when the glass was so filthy. She sighed.

Her eyes turned around the room and scanned for anything that would seem different than the last time she left. Nothing. Even her jumper was laying on the beige armchair as if it was left by someone who just walked by.

Even though she normally wouldn't mind getting her hand dirty and couldn't go to sleep in this filthy place, she felt how tired she was. She thought about getting upstairs to the large bedroom where she used to stay, but that didn't feel right. She sat down in the armchair with the thought of just sitting and enjoying her small victory of coming here. Her eyes closed and her breathing became more and more steady... she fell asleep.

\---

Sherinford was really an ironic place. One day the sun was shining as if it wanted to take away all the crimes these people who stay here have committed, the other its all rainy and dark like a reminder what these people have committed. 

Sherlock found this too unstable and somehow fitting. Nothing was predictable nor it was stable. The weather itself was a good reminder of that.

His hand clenched around his violin case as he nodded to the security guard who was standing in front of him. Without a word, the guard turned around and led him deeper into this museum of twisted minds.

Sherlock followed and tried not to make any plans of how and what to do. He felt stupid for going down there, even more, stupid when he admitted to himself he actually couldn't solve something for once. He also knew if he would think ahead of something, like how to even start a conversation with his sister, Eurus would know instantly and could turn that against him. No, it was better not to prepare too much.

The guard's walking was brisk and fast. He didn't slow down once, didn't think about which way to choose or when to turn left or right. Not that Sherlock would need a guard or someone to lead him - he remembered very well the way that led to his sister's room.

 _Even though the weather could be as unstable as Mrs Hudson's hip_ , Sherlock thought, _Sherinford is probably one thing that will never improve._ As he analyzed every step, every move and every guard they've met, he didn't notice any new security measurements or more people standing on guard. He also knew why Mycroft didn't make any further appointments to improve safety in Sherinford - the measurements were working just fine except for one person - Eurus. He and his brother knew that Eurus staying locked down is only her choice. She proved already that she could get away just as easily as is buying fish and chips in London. It was pointless to hire new people to take care of Sherinford - as long as no one else got out. Also, it was crucial to keep the existence of this place to a minimum, so, the fewer people knew the better.

They finally reached the door that kept him away from Eurus. The guard stepped away and let Sherlock with his violin pass.

The room was just as it was the last time he visited. Grey walls with direct cold white lightning. Glass wall and transport portal. There would be no evidence of life if Sherlock didn't see his sister sitting on her bed. He only saw her back, he wondered if her eyes were closed or if she just stared at the blank wall in front of her. What did she think of? Was she again on the plane as a little girl? 

He took a step forward, his hands sweating a little. He knew he didn't need to make a sound, she already knew of him. How her mind worked he didn't know, he just knew he was no match for her. If he tried to understand how she thinks and how she lives, it would be as explaining the Theory of relativity to a one-year-old. Pointless.

Eurus turned to face him. She wasn't surprised, there was no evident expression on her face. Her eyes were gloomy and if it was anyone else, Sherlock would immediately deduce the amount of alcohol the person had consumed. But this was Eurus, her expression the same as always.

Sherlock felt frustrated. Everything he knew, everything he _thought_ he knew, it has always worked. But Eurus was his weak spot, she was always the exception. His talents didn't work with her, he wasn't able to deduce a thing. It reminded him of Irene. _But_ , he thought, _in the end, she lost. Eurus didn't._

Sherlock just stood there and kept his face calm, trying not to give anything away at the beginning. After a few minutes of staring at each other, Eurus got tired of that staring contest and turn her back to him again. Sherlock wanted to sigh but kept his feelings to himself. He slowly opened the violin case and adjusted the violin under his chin.

It was the best he could do. He started to play. The melody started soft and graduated smoothly. When he played, he thought about Eurus. How she was all alone for so long but killed so many people. How her hair had the same colour as his but her mind was so different. How her personality was full of contrasts and he was clear as water. How she put John and Mycroft in danger and how she let him help her. How she twistedly cried for help and allied with Moriarty. How she tried to kill Molly. His Molly.

The string burst. He didn't even realize how furiously his play turned out. He didn't even remember the last time he destroyed his violin. He could play all he wanted and how he wanted but it never broke. He curiously watched the instrument in his hand and felt the sweat on his forehead. Then he looked up and saw Eurus staring at him. She didn't make a sound as she stood up and walked from her bed to the other end of the room. She took her own violin and without a word of warning, her hands started to move.

It was a sweet, yet very sad melody. The tones carried around the room, creating a sound echo that gave the music the feeling that more people were playing in the room than just his brilliant sister. It was soft, calming and peaceful. Something he never thought Eurus would play. She was actually trying to console him. She didn't change the melody and played and played. 

Sherlock stood, completely mesmerized by the view. They played together already, it was a form of their communication because words always seemed to be the tricky part. Music was different for them, it represented clean thoughts, no lying and every word unsaid could be expressed by the sound. The violin was like a free pass to their minds, some kind of a middle ground where they could hug each other, yell at each other, forgive each other. Something he still didn't do.

He couldn't forgive Eurus, not yet. Even though she was way smarter than Einstein during his time, she wasn't spared of some kind of children's selfishness and stupidity. She was jealous of Sherlock having a friend, so she killed him. With such a twisted way that his death could only be explained many years later. If she had an IQ of a century, how could she give in such a feeling? She said so herself - all those complicated little emotions.

She was smart and was probably hurting, being all alone and having no one by her side who could actually understand her. But that wasn't enough for Sherlock. All of this, it didn't justify the way she acted and the way she _asked_ for help.

The music continued, it created a soundtrack to his thoughts. She tried to hurt Molly. Who knows if she would really let her be or if she had a sniper waiting for her command. It didn't have to be explosives, maybe she didn't lie when she said there weren't any. It would be really clumsy but she had her ways, their apartment on Baker street was proof of that. She still could've had someone prepared to make the final step if Sherlock didn't make Molly say the words. And she said them. Her face when she said them. Cruel. How cruel was this situation Eurus put him in? But it all made sense after all. She was testing them. There was not a thing in that trial of hers that would be completely pointless. If Sherlock really didn't care about Molly or saw her only as a friend, she wouldn't bother to include her to the game. She already knew how Sherlock felt about her. She knew it before he realized himself.

When he said the words, he was thinking of a way how to make them sound real. His surprise how easy it was to say them out loud had to be evident. When his vision blurred and he saw only Molly on the screen, as clear as ever, the words came out the second time without him even knowing. It was like an instinct. Like as if something came out alive in him and he couldn't control it anymore.

He looked at Eurus, his eyes changing their expression. Eurus stopped playing and gazed at him. Her mouth moved, short and almost not visible - was it a smile? 

Sherlock didn't know but wasn't afraid to smile himself. His sister's eyes glistened and peacefully blinked at him. She knew. _Of course_ , he thought.

They stared at each other for a while, a brother and a sister, only a glass wall separating them. Then she put down the violin and sat on her bed, her back turned against him again.

Sherlock stood there for a while, knowing everything that needed to be said _was_ said, in a way. He didn't want to leave her alone again but knew that small steps were important for both of them.

He took his own broken violin safely in the case and left.


	3. Chapter 3

"She did what?" 

John's surprise was written clearly in his face with his mug halfway to his mouth. It was late evening, Rosie was already asleep and Sherlock was supposed to be at Molly's.  _ At least that's what the plan was _ , he thought. But when Sherlock came back half an hour later, he sensed something was afoot. At first, he thought Molly's had enough of this whole thing and just refused to make any contact, which was totally understandable from his point of view. Even though she wasn't in any real danger, didn't have to make any death promising decisions and did not have any family drama going on, she was still in the middle of it. She was always somehow in the middle of it. Of course, it made her stronger, but she was hurt as well. John couldn't bring himself to judge her for taking a break from all of them. At least for now. She would come around eventually, he was sure of that. But when Sherlock spoke about her leaving, he started to doubt his own knowledge of humans' emotions, which was still better than Sherlocks'.

"She left," Sherlock repeated, "She's not in her apartment and she wasn't at Bart's". He looked at his hands and continued casually: "Also, a few things in her bedroom and bathroom are missing."

"Oh no, Sherlock, just no," said John with his face of desperation and tiredness he used to have so often when they lived together. "We talked about that. Privacy, that's why some doors are locked, so you don't actually-"

"I know," Sherlock cut him off, not in the mood for lecturing, even though he sometimes enjoyed how John felt the need to remind him some things about social rules he used to ignore. "I just wanted to know where she is."

"And? Did you find out anything?" John said as he poured himself some coffee he made earlier.

"Yes, I dare to say I did."

"Care to elaborate?" asked John when Sherlock didn't keep talking.

"She left London," he said, without any further explanation. John just shook his head, knowing he won't get anything else. 

"And why would she do that? Do you think it is that bad it would make her leave the city? Maybe even the country..." John thought.

"No, she wouldn't travel abroad." Sherlock didn't know why he sounded so sure when in fact, he had a few guesses where she could've gone including foreign countries. Before he had Mycroft check her position, for the first time thankful for his older brothers' overprotective nature, he even considered Ireland or Norway for a minute. When he found out she was still in England, it gave him a little bit of relief, knowing he won't have to travel that far. His thoughts were probably showing in his face because when he looked up from his hands, he saw John with a questioning look. "What?"

John sighed. "You can't go after her."

"And why the hell not?" Sherlock took a deep breath. He knew why he shouldn't, but his new part, the emotional part he wasn't completely in control of yet, wasn't listening to these logical reasons John started to spill all over him. He wasn't really listening to him, only starring blankly just slightly above John's head and already thinking about the fastest way to get there, when John shouted: "-so you better keep your dist- are you even listening?!"

"No," said Sherlock in a neutral tone as if answering a question  _ would you like some coffee? _ John sighed and finally gave up. He took the rest of his coffee and left the room, muttering something like _ idiot _ and  _ why do I ever try. _

Sherlock smiled at his back and went upstairs to the room he was still occupying. It was already getting late and even though he wanted to run to Molly as soon as he could, he had to admit that coming to her in the middle of the night, even though it wouldn't be the first time, was a bit dramatic. He could wait a while.

\-- 

Molly smiled. Her cleaning took the whole day away, but the results were impressive. Her grandmother would definitely be proud of her, considering she did the cleaning just like her. First, she had to swipe the dust just out of everywhere, which took most of her morning. She woke up pretty refreshed even though the armchair wouldn't normally be her first choice of comforts. After the place looked at least a bit like someone actually lived here, she had to clean the windows, change sheets and god, the kitchen was the hardest. She wanted to make some meal but the state of that place made her completely lose her appetite. After two hours of cleaning she finally settled on some ramen she brought with herself, thank goodness. She didn't really feel like going out and shop.

But it was all done and now she could comfortably sit on the sofa and enjoy the smell of sterileness combined with the scent this home held since her childhood, something sweet. It was late evening when she realized she can't see a thing. She stood up to turn on the lights. How surprised she was when nothing happened. She repeated the move  _ on _ and  _ off _ maybe five times in a row, hoping for some kind of miracle that wasn't happening.

"You've got to be kidding me." She said out loud. She wasn't the one to swear immediately when something went wrong, instead, she would just roll her eyes and sigh. She went to the hall and successfully turned on the light there. That made her inspect all the switches in the house. It didn't take long, considering that even though this house had two floors, the rooms were small and there was just one bathroom and bedroom upstairs.

After a few minutes, she was back in the living room getting a paper and writing in capital letters LIGHT BULBS and underlying it twice. The bedroom, bathroom and living room were all covered in darkness now, only a small stripe of light getting there from the hall. She even considered coming to the neighbours to ask them for help, but it was already 10 PM and she wasn't even sure they would know who she was.

She was sure someone noticed her, though. While she was cleaning the windows and humming some songs to herself, focusing on getting it done as quickly as possible due to the cold weather, there was an old pair walking down the road. They smiled at her and she smiled right back, trying to remember them from the times she spent there, but couldn't quite place them in the right category. Later that day, when she was taking out the trash, there was a man. She greeted him with a smile, thinking that worked before with the old pair. He didn't smile at her, just looked at her a few seconds more and then abruptly turned around and walked briskly away. It was strange to her. As she was sitting on the sofa later that evening, she shivered. He was looking at her just a bit longer than she considered usual. She made a mental note to go out the next day and observe the surroundings. Maybe she would meet him again and chat a little, find out who he was and take away that uneasiness he left in her.

She had a few friends there when she was little, but she was never the popular kid, getting into trouble and be the talk of the town. She liked to play alone, watching the water sparkle in the summer evenings and taking flowers on her way back. She liked to listen to the neighbours' fight over the little stuff like buying the unnecessary stuff, where mostly the fight ended with them laughing it off. She loved to listen to her grandmother as she told her stories about her dad, sometimes she even included Molly's mother in those stories. She knew her grandmother was shielding her from what was happening between her parents, which was one of the many reasons Molly had admired her so much. Of course, she realized that only when she was a grown-up, but still, it made her teary.

She had one friend here, though. James was always silent and different than others, didn't like to play and was mostly just at home and rarely got out. When Molly came, they met a few times due to a series of random situations and quickly became friends. It was probably because Molly didn't mind him being silent most of the time. She wasn't much talkative herself, but they seemed to enjoy the other person's presence. They mostly hang out at the meadow, while the sun was right above them.

Then, when Molly stopped coming to Scotland, she even wondered if he was real or if her imagination was wild. She would probably believe she made him up. She was deep in her thoughts when her phone rang.

"Molly! Oh god, how are you?" John's voice sounded more troubled than usual, even though he tried to put on a happy voice for her, probably because she actually picked up.

"Hello John," she replied with equal happiness, "Yeah, well, I'm good. What about you?" She heard some loud screaming and crying, realizing it was Rosie and immediately started to worry. "Did something happen?"

"No, Jesus Molly, not at all. Rosie's fine, I'm fine, Mrs Hudson... well everyone is just fine," he mumbled, carefully not bringing Sherlock into this conversation, "Uhm- well, do you mind telling me where are you?"

"Than what's the noise?" she asked.

"Yeah, Rosie, shh" John muttered and Molly realized he was probably carrying her. "Teeth, you know, she cries a lot in the evening, but the rest of the day is fine. But where are you again?"

Molly took a deep breath. She knew they would probably notice she wasn't at home but didn't know they would be that fast. She mostly saw them three times a week, maybe more if John needed a babysitter. "I'm in Scotland," she said after a moment of silence. "Can you not tell anyone?"

John muttered in agreement on the phone, knowing who she didn't want to know. "Mhm, of course, if that's what you want... I can promise you no one will know from me."

"Thank you, John."

"And, why the sudden escape?"

"You know why," Molly said, knowing there was no point in trying to be tough in front of John. "I just needed to get away from... everyone."

"Yeah," John sighed, "I understand. I just wanted to know that you're okay. When do you come back?"

"I should be back in a week, but honestly, I'm thinking of staying there for a while. You can come for a visit, take Rosie with you."

"I sure will," he replied, the sound of relief evident in his voice. "Molly, if you need anything, just call me. You are my friend, I want you to be okay."

Molly was touched with his words. John was always kind of like her big brother. They were taking care of each other as siblings, helping each other out and caring for each other in such an innocent way that Molly couldn't help but smile.

They said their goodbyes and hang up. Molly was glad he didn't bring Sherlock up, even though one part of her was curious about what he's up to. He was probably solving some case already to ease his mind from all the drama. She hoped he was better. It was a bit relieving not to hear of him, knowing John wouldn't be afraid to tell her if something serious happened. He did not, which meant everything was fine.

It was actually nice to talk to someone, even if it was for just a moment. She didn't mind being alone, but living in London made her more sociable and she wasn't used to not to talk to anyone, even if it included just a simple  _ hi _ and  _ how are you _ .

Her grandma never had a television. What she had was a small bookshelf with the most interesting books she ever saw. She didn't understand them when she was little, they were all hard, full of words and no pictures in them. Now, she went to the bookshelf and took one of the many books, wrapped in an old paper. She sat in the kitchen on one of the two chairs around a small round table and started reading. She quickly became intrigued by all the knowledge of herbs and plants it possessed, there were even some handwritten pieces of information or confirmations. She wondered if it was her grandmother who had written them, but she didn't remember how her handwriting looked like.

As she listed through the book, her mind frequently came back to London, wondering how everyone was doing. She really missed them, surprised it took only two days for her to be anxious about Rosies' health and her colleagues' work. Still, she thought she did the right thing. This was a good experience and so far, she loved every minute of it.

\--

When John put his phone in his pocket, he noticed Sherlock was at the door, staring at him. 

"What?" John asked, knowing Sherlock probably heard most of the conversation.

"How is she?" Sherlock looked at him as if asking for permission to ask.

"She's, well-" John mumbled, "She sounded okay to me. Actually more than okay," he added as if talking more to himself than to the detective.

"More than okay?" Sherlock turned around and walked back to his room.

"Sherlock!" John raised his voice. "Sherlock, promise me you'll leave her alone for now." 

Sherlock didn't listen. She was  _ more _ than okay? It was only a day or two! How can she be already fine. If Scotland was all it took for her to feel better, she should've come there more often. Has she met someone?

His mind was spiralling around all kinds of thoughts, somehow feeling like he was running out of time. He hated himself for that, knowing he had no right to go there or to demand anything from her, but the emotional part of him was going wild at the thought of her being happy without him.

_ You selfish bastard _ , he thought. That's why she didn't want him around her. He was thankful for his brain to talk some sense to him. If he wants this thing to work, he has to be careful. But not too careful, or it could be late for him to tell her how he really feels.

He stood in his room, looking at the phone and seriously considered calling her. He wanted to hear her voice, knowing he would  _ know _ if she was really okay. She probably didn't meet anyone, it would be too absurd. He wanted to hear her laugh on the phone and say something silly, then realizing and awkwardly mumbling her way out of it. He had to know. And after all, he wasn't even able to concentrate on anything here, he wouldn't be of any use.

"Sherlock, don't you dare." John showed up in his room, carrying Rosie. He rolled his eyes and sighed, giving up. "You know what, okay, do what you want. Just leave it till the morning, please." 

"Why?" Sherlock asked as if he was a little child not allowed to play with his favourite toy.

"Because you  _ moron,  _ she deserves to have some good sleep, _ " _ John said while leaving, "Which  _ you _ won't be having."

As he walked back, Sherlock saw Rosie turning her head, face full of tears but smiling wildly at him, two bright teeth showing in her mouth.

\--

The autumn in Scotland was beautiful. The surroundings changed as the taxi run from Glasgow to the utmost wilderness the upper part of Britain had to offer. The grass was getting somehow dryer and the land was becoming more empty with just trees surrounding the road. 

Sherlock never appreciated how nature changed itself. His place was London and when he took the plane to Glasgow, he painfully remembered he was so happy when he first moved to the city after he was able to get his own place, away from his parents and preferably his brother. Little did he know Mycroft had at the time already an apartment in London, working his way up to become one of the most powerful men in the country.

As the car went down, he wondered if Molly is already up. She was used to getting up early in the morning, he remembered, but now, when she didn't really have to, he wondered if it became a habit for her. The sun just started to rise and was changing the misty fields into a ray of golden. He could almost smell the cold air which would contrast with the warmness on his face if he was outside. He didn't mind cold, it was always better than the hot summer days.

The villages they passed were more and more lightened up by the sun and Sherlock saw how it all became alive with cars running down the roads and street lights turning off. He was close now.

The night was dreadful, he kind of doubted Rosie was a real human being. She could be a great singer considering how her vocals will be trained from all the screaming and crying. He closed his eyes and tried to squeeze in some more sleep before his destination came.

He had already decided to go to Scotland that very evening, not minding Johns' disapproving words with Rosie screaming in his lap. Finally, after John had threatened him to call Mycroft to give him a restraining order, Sherlock gave in, thinking waiting a few more hours wasn't worth the trouble he would probably get into. Mycroft would make fun of him and he wouldn't hear the end of it. 

He thought about when Molly and Mycroft first met. It was during the final battle with Moriarty, while they made plans for him faking his death and leaving the world he knew behind him for a while. He remembered how shy Molly was in front of Mycroft but still remained professional, only saying what needed to be said, without any jokes or other small talk. He didn't know how Mycroft saw it, but Sherlock was amazed by her intelligence and how witty she was. Mycroft himself treated her more as an equal, he noticed. He didn't make any snappy comments that would show how inferior she is to him, no. He listened carefully to what she had to say and agreed on almost everything she pointed out. Sherlock was sure it would not have all worked so well if it wasn't for her. He told her that once. Maybe he should've told her more often.

Finally, he opened his eyes and saw the beginning of Luss, with rocky road and people starting to fill the streets. His heart started pounding and after he paid for the road, he got out of the car and inhaled the cold air with excitement he didn't feel for a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly felt her back hurting. The pain made her open her eyes, only to realize it was already late morning and she slept once again in the stupid armchair. She hoped it wouldn't become a habit, it already happened twice in a row. 

Yesterday evening she was going through the herbal book which was still turned upside down as she left it opened and went back to the already dark living room. While she sat down, she was once again lost in thoughts and probably fell asleep. She smiled for herself - back in London, she had so much trouble falling asleep. Comfortable bed, dark curtains and even some aroma candle didn't help her fall asleep. And here? She falls asleep even in a sitting position.  _ Scotland really has its perks _ , she thought.

As she went to the kitchen, she realized all of the food she brought with herself from London was gone. That made her face the thing she vowed herself to do, go outside. Shopping does count, right?

She took a deep breath. Well, before she goes outside, she could also make some improvement to her personal hygiene, she awkwardly realized as she looked at her filthy clothes and rather did not think of how bad she must smell. 

"Well, organic life it is," she laughed as she walked upstairs to get some shampoo and soap from her bag.

The bathroom was small and simple, yet somehow welcoming. The once white tiles were getting the yellowish colour, the wash-basin was visibly used and old and the toilet, once painted with now barely visible red flowers, was going to need an improvement - but, everything was sparkling clean. She kind of expected the water in the shower to be freezing cold, but her pleasure from taking the shower wasn't going to be harmed in any way - the steam from the hot water dripping on her head and shoulders created little droplets on the tiles around her.

When she got out of the shower, it was clear she spent way more time there than she realized. It was almost noon.

She quickly dried herself, with her hair being quite a challenge, and changed into clean clothes. She once again felt fresh and was ready to head out. As she stepped outside into the cold fresh air, she inhaled slowly and enjoyed the ray of sunshine on her face. 

She began to walk the path she hoped she remembered correctly. The store was located right in the centre of the little village, while her house was at one of the borders. It was going to be a pleasant walk.

Right behind the corner of her street, the peace in her soul was suddenly put to a challenge when a young man appeared next to her. Well, not directly next to her, but it was obvious he was going to walk in the same direction. 

He was almost the same height as she was, only a little taller. His light brown hair, longer than what Molly was used to in London, was tied into a small ponytail. His face was covered with a small beard which made him look very admirable to Molly. His brown eyes were looking curiously at her and Molly realized she was staring. She quickly turned her head and was prepared to walk faster but he already caught her eye. She felt awkward, not knowing whether to try a friendly smile again or just ignore him. Luckily for her, he didn't make her choose between these two.

"Good morning," he greeted her, with a subtle smile.

"Oh, good morning," she replied, feeling her cheeks turning red. She stopped and offered him a handshake with the usual _ I'm Molly _ which he accepted and his smile grew even wider. 

"You don't remember, do you?" 

"I'm sorry, remember what-" Molly looked at him curiously. Was it possible? Could it be him - after all this time? She nervously chuckled and thought that if she was mistaken, at least she would have a story to talk about in a few years. "James?"

His smile was like a hundred-watt light bulb. His eyes were shining at her and she remembered her old friend in them. She felt her heart pounding in her chest and her face mirrored his happiness.

Then he hugged her and lifted into the air. She laughed hysterically and yelled at him to put her down. She couldn't believe it. Her once so silent and not-showing-his-feelings James was now spinning her like a child. When they both got out of breath from all the laughing, they stared at each other, both of them not knowing what to say. Finally, Molly broke the silence.

"Was it you? Yesterday?"

"Yeah," he said, suddenly looking at the ground, "I didn't- I wasn't sure it was you."

Molly smiled at him with understanding, knowing it had simply been too long. "Don't worry, I didn't recognize you at first, too. You look really different,"

Now she realized the truth of these words. He really looked different, his hair always cut short, his figure a bit more in width than height- but his eyes remained the same shade.

"Well, I don't live with my mother anymore," he laughed, "So no one is there to complain about my hair or not eating  _ enough _ ." His voice was deep and rough, not at all what Molly expected it to sound like when they were young. "You changed, too."

"Really? How?" Molly said surprised. She didn't see any change in herself.

"You don't have my bracelet, you know."

Molly knew what he meant. The last time they saw each other, he gave her a bracelet which he made himself, as he didn't forget to remind her like a hundred times. She still had it, obviously couldn't wear it, but kept it safe with her stuff in London.

"Well, I'm going to the shop now," she said instead of explaining why she doesn't have the tiny thing on her hand.

"Are you craving any company?" He didn't wait for her to answer and started walking downs the street, "Or probably a tour-guide, considering you showed up after more than a decade."

_ That isn't entirely true _ , Molly thought,  _ I had to be there for grandma's funeral _ . She kind of expected to see him there then, but that didn't happen. She smiled at him again and caught up with him.

As they walked more and more into the centre of the village, Molly saw how some things have changed - but nothing changed as much as James. He told her stories, was charming and didn't resemble her childhood friend at all. She was astonished by this sudden change but enjoyed his company. He told her how he and his parents moved away for a while, how his new school was, how many friends he had and how sad he was when he came back and didn't find her there.

"Edinburgh is amazing, Molly!" he told her, "I couldn't be happier when we moved there. The kids there were so welcoming of us - I still have many friends there. We see each other regularly. How about you? London must be exciting!"

"You know," Molly said while looking away from him, "It's great. Really."

He looked at her questioningly, so she continued: "There are so many people, I too have some good friends there, I even have a god-daughter."

"Wow," he smiled, "It sounds like you have quite a life there. What made you come back here?"

Molly looked at him. She hesitated whether to let herself talk about it to someone she didn't see for years. He had done nothing wrong, but it's been too long since they saw each other. She couldn't help but feel a little bit shy around him, not knowing where to look or what to say.

"I just felt a little bit nostalgic," she said and smiled. He nodded and they walked in silence for a while, until he stopped her and pointed in front of him. "That's your store."

The building was quite old, some of the bricks broken and the glass was a bit dusty, but what made it look so cheerful to Molly was the fruit and vegetables placed in front of the store. There were apples, oranges, cucumbers and all kinds of colourful things Molly never bought in London. She used to have just a quick takeaway or cooked some pasta but never got to eat really healthily.

"You're lucky we're here now," said James while coming to the stand and taking one apple, "It's only this time they take these things outside, otherwise it's too cold for it. Now you can see all the beauty."

"I certainly can," Molly agreed and took an apple herself. After she collected everything she thought she might find tasty, they each paid for everything inside the store. Molly happily took the bag full of fruit, vegetables and some other things she found inside the store and went outside where James was still waiting for her.

"Well, you didn't take much," she laughed while looking at the apple in his hand, half-eaten already.

"I have food at home, unlike you. But," he joked and took a step closer to her, "I'm afraid you have to find your way back by yourself. I have something to attend to."

"Of course," Molly said, still smiling. James then turned around and they parted their ways. As she was leaving, she couldn't help but feel the sudden irony of destiny. Maybe it was fate - her coming here. She didn't see her old friend for more than fifteen years probably. It was incredible she met him while taking a completely spontaneous trip. She should do these things more often.

\--

Her walking was light and rhythmical, she was happy for herself. She almost forgot how that felt, and as she walked past the other people, her response to their greetings was done with the most sincere smile. Her walk to the cottage was longer now that she was alone, but still enjoyed the cold air and the almost milky-white sun shining on her.

"Hello, Molly."

It was like a lightning from the sky, clear as a day. She stopped dead in her tracks, hand tightening around the bag full of food. She wondered how could that be. She must've misheard, she was sure. It was impossible. Maybe it was someone local with a very,  _ very _ similar voice. She turned around and there he was.

Sherlock was standing right in front of her, with his dark hair and his coat and everything. It was like she magically put the memory of him in front of her and somehow 3D printed it into a real man. It was him, just like she saw him last in London. He wasn't smiling, although his face wasn't necessarily unfriendly and unwelcoming, unlike hers.

"What-" she started as she made a few steps closer to him like a cat prepared to bite its prey.

"-am I doing here?" He laughed, sarcastically. "Molly, I'm merely visiting an old village. What do  _ you _ think I'm doing here?"

"That's what I'm as- what I meant to ask!" 

She felt herself turning furious. The thought of him coming to  _ her _ place, her solitude of calm and peace, to invade  _ her _ time even though she made it clear she didn't want to be followed or contacted by him- this all made her angrier and her calmness was long gone within a minute.

"I'm here for you." He stated as if it was an obvious fact. It was, in a sense, and Molly was glad she could slap the inner part of herself which thought maybe she was too harsh and he could have a case here.

"So you just thought - Oh, let's visit Molly even though she left!" She felt herself becoming less in control of her emotions and hated herself for that. What would she give to just stay calm and resolve this as a grown-up?

"I thought," he put his hands above his head in a sign of defeat, "You would be glad to see me."

In his face, it was clear his emotions are running wild. He was saying the truth. He didn't expect her to run to him with her arms wide open, but maybe with one of her shy smiles, then he would make her understand what she meant to him - damn, he had it all planned!

"Oh yes," Molly laughed almost hysterically. "I could die from happiness this very minute."

Even though he liked his Molly shy and kind, he had to admit he was enjoying to see this new side of her. He already saw her in a full-angry mode, but this was new. And he, though irritated, was enjoying it.

"Since when are you so ironic?" He fought back.

"Since when do you invade someone's privacy?!"

"Since  _ forever _ !" he shouted, his hands still up in the air.

They were now so close to each other they were almost touching. Molly glared at him with her head slightly tilted back, Sherlock returned her gaze with the same aggression and persistence. But there was something different. Molly saw how his pupils dilated and his eyes softened as they left her eyes and stopped on her lips instead. He gulped and took a slow breath. Then he took a slow step back, his face composed and showing nothing of the previous glimpse of vulnerability.

"If you  _ really _ don't want me here, I'll go."

Molly took a sharp breath, almost forgetting why her anger left her so suddenly. "I want to be alone, Sherlock."

She turned her head to her house which was nearby and let out a small laugh. "I came here to heal. And to be honest, since I'm here," she said with a tired smile on her face, "I feel happier than I've ever felt in London."

"Isn't it lonely?" he asked her, his voice showing an interest she had heard only when it regarded a case.

"Did you ever wonder if I felt that way when we were in London?" She looked at him. Her voice was light as a feather, but Sherlock caught the hidden pain it possessed and his heart broke a little. He never had. "Besides," she continued, even managing to put on a smile, "I'm not so alone here it seems."

Sherlock didn't know what she meant exactly, but he was sure it had something to do with the stranger he heard her talking to. They seemed to have a rather good time.

"So, yes, Sherlock," she said while carefully choosing her words, "I want you to go. I'll return back to London in a week, so can you just  _ please _ , go and leave me be?" Her voice was almost pleading.

Sherlock gave her a sad smile which made Molly almost take her words back, but she promised she would put herself first for once. Sherlock saw that. He also saw how much better Molly appeared, something like a flower slowly blooming after a fresh rain. He had to admit she knew what was best for her. He even started to doubt his decision to come here. Why the hell didn't John stop him? He will talk with him later.

As she was standing there, her brown hair dishevelled around her face and some of the locks falling to her face, she looked like a goddess. Sherlock didn't want to part with her just yet.

"I will," he agreed, admitting a defeat. "Can I go in the morning?"

Molly shrugged, "Go as you please."

"Good," said Sherlock and started walking past her, right to her house.

"Wait, wai- Sherlock!" Molly shouted, but there was no use, he was already inside of her tiny house and she was left at the street, alone.

\--

"When I said to _ go as you please _ , I didn't mean  _ go and make yourself home _ ." She said calmly while taking out the groceries in the kitchen. Sherlock was already sitting in her  _ sleepy _ armchair, as she liked to refer to it, and was watching her from the view the linked kitchen and living room offered him.

"I know," he answered, "But you have to admit, there's no other place for me to stay."

"You could've stayed in Glasgow."

"I wouldn't be that comfortable there."

Molly was glad she had her back turned to him and he didn't see her smile. She was still mad a little, but she knew having Sherlock nearby wasn't really something she hated. She hated she knew it.

As she started to chop some onions - she had a feeling a late lunch or early dinner would be most appropriate - she didn't realize Sherlock left the living room and was now standing behind her. She froze, not knowing where to look or what to do. She felt his breath on her neck which sent shivers down her spine. She let out a breath. "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for a glass." He said, his voice as innocent as ever. She turned her head to look at him, seeing a smirk on his face. Without words, she pointed to the cupboard on her left side and went back to preparing the food, feeling her cheeks burning.

"Thank you," he said as he reached for the glass. Although two people could be in the kitchen at the same time without making any contact, she slowly realized Sherlock didn't miss a chance to touch her anytime he could. It was something she couldn't bring up without making it obvious how much it affected her. It was just a brush of their hands when he poured himself some water from the sink, or when he helped her to put the remains of the vegetable to the small fridge.

It all made her alert and painfully aware of the fact that the almost  _ zen _ atmosphere of this place was long gone. Sherlock didn't seem to mind, exactly the opposite.

It was already dark outside when she was done with the food. While she was cooking, she slowly came to peace with Sherlock occupying her house for one night. If it meant their relationship would not be worse when she came back to London, it was worth letting him stay. She was sure it would be more damage if she let him on a street, even though she was sure he would take care of himself. Sherlock left the kitchen after she gave him one of her looks, and let her cook for the rest of the afternoon in peace. As far as she knew, he stayed in the living room, doing God knows what. She wasn't paying attention to him.

They sat down to the small table and started eating. It was a simple meal, roasted vegetables with bread crumbs and freshly brewed tea. She didn't have any meat but didn't mind it. They ate in silence.

"So," Molly started, decided to break the ice. "How did you find out where I am?"

Sherlock coughed as he was clearly startled by this. He took a sip of a tea and carefully chewed every last bit of food left in his mouth. "I had help."

"What help?" Molly said sharply. She didn't like where this was going.

"Mycroft." He admitted sheepishly and Molly let out a sigh.

"You couldn't just leave it be, could you?"

Sherlock looked at her, not answering. Of course, he could not leave her be. The longer she was gone, the smaller his chances were and the more fragile their friendship became. Why didn't she see that?

"Now," Molly said as she took their empty plates and put them in the sink, "First things first. You're leaving tomorrow, but still, you should know not everything in this house is, as I would say, functional."

Sherlock looked curiously at her and waited for her to continue.

"The light doesn't work in most of the house, the water cannot be heated right now and at night it can get really cold." Molly was talking with an informative voice, without any emotion left in it as she was doing the dishes. "But I assume that sleeping in a bedroom will solve this problem."

As she dried her hands, she turned around to face him. He was watching her, without a sound. Then he stood up and walked slowly to her. If she would raise her head, she was sure she could count his lashes.

"Where will you sleep?" He asked her, silently. 

"I-" Molly said, desperate not to look at him, "I usually sleep in the living room." She nodded her head slightly in that direction and looked on her feet again, her hair falling down to her face. Her breathing deepened and her body felt like she was standing on burning rocks. The heat was rising up through her whole body, right to her cheeks.

Sherlock looked at her, he himself not much in control. He took a deep breath and tucked a lock of her hair slowly behind her ear. He didn't remove his hand though and let it rest on her neck. Molly took a sharp breath at this sudden contact. She didn't want it to stop.

As her eyes met him, she admired how perfectly blue his eyes were. He still didn't leave his hand as he said: "Why don't you sleep in the bedroom?"

His eyes were fixed on her and he saw how she made an attempt to look down again. He didn't let her, his hand sliding down to her chin and lifting it. He was examining her face for any sign of annoyance or discomfort but didn't see any. He instinctively rubbed his thumb on her cheek, making her let out a sigh.

She turned her head from him and took a step aside, to make more space between them. "My grandmother used to sleep there. I can't bring myself to be there."

As she admitted the truth, she found it easy to continue. "I cleaned the whole house, even the bedroom, but every night I managed to fall asleep on the armchair. At first, I thought it was just exhaustion, but the more I think about it," she said, walking slowly to the living room, now fully in darkness, "The more I'm sure I just don't want to sleep in her bed."

Sherlock walked right behind her, not knowing what to say. He didn't expect Molly to share that with him and was taken aback by her confession.

"And you would be okay with me sleeping there?"

Molly turned to face him and almost inaudibly replied: "It's just for one night."

With that, she sat down to the armchair and placed a small cardigan on her lap. Sherlock watched her, admiring how practical this woman was. "Well," he said, looking at the sofa facing the armchair, "If you're not sleeping there, nor will I." And with that, he laid down on the sofa with an extravagant  _ hop  _ which, as he had hoped, made Molly chuckle.

They didn't go to sleep yet. They talked a little, had a few laughs and enjoyed the good nature of their conversation before they went to brush their teeth and go back to the living room. It all seemed too domestic for Sherlock. Talking about the weather, the house, Molly's past, John and Rosie. They kept their topics strictly unharmful, not mentioning Eurus, their undefined relationship or Sherlocks' trespass. Sherlock even managed not to ask about that man he saw her with, wanting to keep this evening calm and maybe show to Molly he can be someone she can actually talk to, without fear of being analyzed or criticized. Maybe he could make her come back with him tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly woke up frustrated. She couldn't sleep until it was probably 3 AM. She kept changing positions and hoped the magical piece of furniture would make her sleepy, as it has done twice already. This time, it was different. She knew it had nothing to do with the armchair or her level of exhaustion. She was sure, to be honest, it had  _ everything _ to do with the man sleeping soundly on the sofa in front of her. She rolled her eyes and tried to face the other way with her eyes forcefully shut. 

When she finally fell asleep, it was like all of the worlds shut down. After a while, what seemed like just a few minutes, she opened her eyes and - horrified - saw that not only Sherlock wasn't there anymore, it was 2 PM already. She thought the old clocks on the wall must be broken, but then she realized they were working just fine when she checked the time before she fell asleep.

She got up, stretched her arms up in the air and exhaled. She was actually hurt. One part of her wanted Sherlock gone, however, the other wanted him to stay even more. Or at least say goodbye before leaving. Bastard.

But, whatever her feelings are, she is practical. She wouldn't get so upset just over him leaving. She told him to do so after all. Still, it made her a bit sad.

She planned to go to the kitchen and make herself something good to eat but her body wanted to stay in the sitting position a bit longer. The sun was shining playfully in her face and she felt herself relax. That's when she heard the front door open.

She stood up and - alarmed - quickly went over to see what made that noise. It was Sherlock. Molly started laughing as soon as she saw him - he was trying to balance two paper cups in his right hand while manoeuvring the door behind him with a paper bag in the other hand. It was almost like a scene from a circus. When he realized Molly was laughing at him, he grunted and with one strong kick shut the door behind him. Molly put her hand before her mouth, trying to suppress her laugh.

"What is all this, Sherlock?"

"Good morning to you too, or should I say," he stopped in his tracks, looking at her rather playfully, "Good afternoon?"

Molly smiled at him. "I didn't know I would sleep that long. What in gods name are you carrying? Let me help you."

She went over to him and took the paper bag and curiously looked inside. There were some croissant and bagel. Where the hell did he get that?

"Here," he said and handed her the cup. It was clear from the smell the only version of coffee she was able to drink - basic coffee with cinnamon. She was touched he remembered that.

She muttered  _ thank you _ and they sat together in the kitchen. When they started eating, Molly asked: "Where did you get this?"

Sherlock chewed on his bagel and it was obvious he was saving some time. When he finished, he admitted: "I wasn't able to get anything here, so I went to Glasgow."

Molly choked and took a sip of her coffee. "All the way to Glasgow? For a bagel and coffee?"

"Technically, bagel, croissant and two coffees. And yes," he continued, "All the way to Glasgow."

Molly sat there, trying to come up with some clever response but couldn't find any. So she just nodded, hopeful he got the message of her being grateful and stayed silent. After a while, she couldn't help herself.

"Why didn't you just leave when you were there?"

Sherlock looked at her, studying her face. Then with a sigh, he said: "Do you really want me gone so bad?"

Molly locked her eyes with him. Even though he was sitting across the table, she could swear she saw every little wrinkle and string of hair falling to his face. She also saw the pain behind his eyes, which made her question her own ability to hurt others. Did she really want him gone? If she was honest, she knew she didn't. But she also didn't know how much she wanted Sherlock to know that.

"I just thought you already made some plans or something." She muttered, feeling the hotness in her face.

"I would at least say goodbye if I really decided to leave."

The words hang between them, that's how much both of them valued what the other was willing to say in front of the other. Molly realized the tables turned. While she was always the vulnerable one, putting herself on the front line and not caring about getting hurt, he was always putting walls everywhere she went and distanced himself as much as it was possible. Now, it was her who couldn't almost meet his eyes and wasn't saying what was really on her mind. Sherlock realized this too. He couldn't just  _ get _ what Molly was thinking. One minute, she acted as if he had ruined her, the other she was kind and caring and laughing. She was dancing around questions that required honesty and he felt somehow bare, naked even. He wasn't used to being so vulnerable about his feelings and was surprised how easy it was to get hurt by just a short sentence that wasn't honest. Was that how Molly was hurting all these years? His face became stone cold at the thought he made her feel this way. His hatred towards himself had to be written clearly in his face because Molly smiled at him with her all-knowing smile and slightly shook her head. 

"No," she said, "you can stay if you want, for a while."

His heart skipped a beat and his face lit up like a child's face getting a new toy. "I'm really happy to hear that."

Molly's smile grew even wider and they both continued eating in silence.

\--

Molly didn't know what to do. Having Sherlock at her home was something she was used to. But it usually went like this: she got up, he was either still asleep or already gone somewhere, she went to work, came during the evening and he came late at night from some business he had in the city. This was their usual form of coexistence. But having him here - with nowhere to run - was something completely different. She knew she had to put up with him somehow but had no idea what to do or if she was supposed to talk to him or... she was miserable.

After they finished their meal, she decided after a few awkward questions to go for a walk. She wanted to clear her mind.

"Do you want to come with me?" she asked, hoping he would decline. She needed to have some time alone, to think about what to do next. She honestly felt like a fifteen-year-old.

"No, I'm actually tired. I needed to get up pretty early to get back in time."

She nodded and headed out, leaving Sherlock behind her, wondering what he was up to.

As she went outside, the cold air filling her lungs, she started walking towards the lake. It was already sunset, which she enjoyed most. She loved watching the sunset, but her job at the lab didn't allow her to see it very often. It became a kind of precious thing to her, something like a small gift from the world, only for her.

As she was slowly reaching the lake, her mind circled around Sherlock. He didn't leave her after all. She didn't understand herself. Did she really want him gone or wanted him to stay? She was a mess. She felt like betraying herself all over again. First, when she told him she loved him, now when she contradicted herself and just after a day changed her decision about him leaving. She felt stupid. But in a way, it made her feel much younger than she was. It was refreshing and exhausting at the same time.

As the sun was setting, the bright strings of light danced on the water, creating an almost magical view for her. She got so absorbed in it she didn't realize her mouth went open. The trees were creating a thin layer of shadow, making the lake seem like something from a fairytale. She wondered if Sherlock would like that view, too. She actually wanted to hear him say something beautiful, something that would admire this place and show respect for the beauty this magnificent land has to offer. She didn't know why.

Molly realized she had so many wishes for Sherlock, she wanted to make him happy and wanted him to appreciate the life he has, without any satisfying reason why. She had all these questions she didn't know answers to, all these feelings mixing up in her that made her feel uneasy. But his presence was different. She was nervous around him only when she felt vulnerable and open. When it came down to their friendly chat earlier, she felt like her old self, making not so funny jokes and mumbling every other sentence with her eyes on her lap, then gaining courage and becoming more friendly and joyful. It was a pleasant moment, something she was able to picture doing more often. And when he smiled at her, she felt herself melt in her chair.

When she thought about it more and more, she found herself more and more confused. She was certain about his feelings for him. That was out of a question, she couldn't just turn it off like it was nothing. But she was fighting her will for putting herself up for yet another heartbreak. Her head was saying it was pointless. Sherlock would never change. He would still be up for something dangerous, still would run around and never retire. She would be miserable, worried sick all the time and would hardly ever see him with their busy schedules. Was that something she would give up for a few moments of bliss? Was that what love was about? About overcoming all the logical reasons why  _ not to be together _ and staying with each other no matter what?  _ Great _ , Molly thought for herself,  _ now I'm overthinking. I'm cold, the sun has already set and I'm here, overthinking about my feelings while I have freaking SHERLOCK at home! _

She turned her back to the lake, the sound of the water accompanying her on her way back. She didn't realize she was out that long, it really seemed like a minute. 

On her way back she forbid herself to think about it more, concentrating on her surroundings and listening to every sound around her. Maybe it was that lucky timing or just her imagination, but she swore she heard someone walk behind her. She turned around, but no one was behind her. She stood there for a minute before turning around and walking again. She thought it was just her wild imagination, probable tiredness from all the thoughts in her mind when she heard it again. Silent steps, quick pace and the moment she turned around brisk movement. But again, no one was behind her. This time, she felt more than uneasy and knew she had to decide. She could either go in the direction of the noise - which would be crazy. She didn't know any martial arts and had no gun or weapon with her. If that person was someone else than just a random civilian, she could end up in real trouble.

On the other hand, if she started walking towards her home, she was certain that person would follow her. The person had to know she  _ knew _ now. What would he do? Would he try to run after her and hurt her? Or would he just watch her silently and figure out where she lives?

She decided in less than a nanosecond. She started running, not caring about the noise behind her, hoping her legs weren't that out of shape to carry her home without tripping. It was hard to know if the person was actually running after her - she made a lot of noise herself - but just the picture of him running after her made her run fas like a wind.

As she was reaching her house, she quickly turned her head and - relieved - found out no one was following her. The street was long and well-lit and there was nowhere to hide. And it was empty. She exhaled, tired from all the running and went inside.

"Molly, look- what happened?" was the greeting she got. Molly looked up and saw Sherlock walking towards her, his voice panicked and his hand taking her face without any hesitation. Molly exhaled once more, trying to catch her breath.

"It was- it was-" she wanted to get the words out, but her short breathiness and Sherlock's hand on her face weren't much of a help.

"What? What was it?"

"It was, someone was behind me-" she managed to get out before taking his hand gently on hers and letting herself calm down.

"What do you mean? When?"

"Just now, as I was walking back," Molly explained, "someone was watching me, I'm sure of it."

She didn't know what Sherlock was thinking, but suddenly he pushed her out of his way and furiously ran outside the house, looking from one side to the other. Molly realized he was just in his shirt and it was really cold outside.

"Sherlock, come back, please."

"When did you notice him watching you?" he shouted. Molly was sure if she told him she was kidding, he would probably kill her.

"It was just a minute. I ran away the moment I realized. I don't think he followed me."

Sherlock didn't take his eyes off the street, his face showing something she wasn't quite familiar with. Was it fear?

Finally, he decided to get back to the house, locking the door behind him. Then he turned to Molly, who still stood in the hall with her jacket on with her face alarmed. With one quick movement, he pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her.

Molly didn't know what was that supposed to mean, but she liked the warmness of his body. She let him hug her, his hand slowly caressing her back. She exhaled to his chest, letting her muscles weaken and slowly returned his hug. She felt the muscles on his back as he moved his arms around her, leaving one hand stroking her hair. One tiny tear left her eyes and fell on Sherlock's chest. When she realized it, she tried to pull back but Sherlock didn't let her.

"Stay," he told her, no room for any disagreement.

Molly smiled for herself, enjoying the care he was showing her. He was really scared for a minute, wasn't he?  _ Well _ , she thought,  _ if he wasn't, I sure as hell was. _

After a few moments, she felt him shifting and he made a slow step from her. Her eyes were locked in his, feeling the connection they created over the short period of time they were hugging. He moved his hands on her shoulders, slowly taking the fabric of her jacket in his hands and pulling it down. She didn't protest, letting it slide down her arms with him stepping forward again and taking the jacket off completely. Then he stood in front of her for what seemed like the longest time and finally sighed. Then he turned around and put the jacket on the hanger next to him.

Molly watched him curiously, not knowing what to expect next. It was so intimate she wasn't sure if her heavy breathing was still because of her running or because of this.

"Better?" he asked.

"Very. Thank you," she answered, the magic of the moment gone. "Wait a minute,"

Molly looked behind her and realized. She  _ saw _ Sherlock. It was already dark outside and she  _ saw  _ Sherlock.

"Did you change the light bulb?"

"It's better now, isn't it?" Sherlock sounded a bit cheerful, happy that Moll acknowledged his work. "I wanted to get it done before you come back."

"Wow, Sherlock," Molly gave him a smile and walked excitedly to the living room, all the furniture and walls just welcoming her with a cosy atmosphere while the windows were dark with a hint of blue.

"It's wonderful. It certainly is better," she said, happy to know she wouldn't trip over anything or kill herself if she would wake up in the middle of the night and wanted to go somewhere.

"Oh, it was nothing." Sherlock just waved his hand, smiling at Molly spinning around the room and watching everything as she saw it for the very first time. He didn't expect a simple light bulb could make her so childishly happy. Well, she didn't have to know it was actually for the third time he finally got it right.

"Are you sure you are okay?"

"Yes, Sherlock," Molly said, turning to face him. "I really am. Maybe it was just my imagination, who knows. It could've been some stray dog and because of London and knowing you I immediately see a criminal."

Sherlock figured Molly tried to laugh it off. He didn't want to make her feel uneasy again and nodded with a smile. Still, he wasn't feeling good about this. The face when Molly fell into the hall made his heart skip a beat. He never wanted to see it again. It made him without knowing walk towards her, taking her hand in his. He ran his thumb around her palm, enjoying the warmness of her skin and the surprised look on her face. After a moment, she put her other hand on top of his with the words: "I feel already better. I'm fine."

This reassurance was not at all what he needed to make sure she was okay, he wanted to feel every inch of her body, inspect every possible damage that could've happened, but her words had to be enough for now. Without letting her hand go, he led her to the kitchen. Molly followed him and without any other words, they started to cook, both acknowledging the presence of the other, steeling little touch once in a while and both of them smiling for themselves.


	6. Chapter 6

The dinner was mostly kept in silence. Molly was still recovering from the scare she had before and Sherlock was doing something on his phone. It all had some vibe of domesticity, something that Sherlock didn't know he lacked. He felt so comfortable he wouldn't even care if London went down in flames. What mattered to him was Molly, being safe and happy. He looked at her from his phone and watched her as she slowly chewed every bite of her meal, eyes darting around her plate. There was a small frown on her forehead.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"What?" Molly said, with her fork halfway to her mouth. "Oh," she regained her posture. "Nothing, just wondering."

"About?"

Molly sighed and put down her fork. "It seems to me I think too much just about everything lately. I thought if I had a break from everything," she continued, her voice becoming more and more like a whisper, "it would've cleared things up."

"I think I understand." Sherlock nodded while having a bite of vegetable.

"You do?" Molly said, clearly surprised.

"I think so. I was exactly like this after Mary."

Molly fell silent again. The  _ Mary _ topic was still painful and brought memories of all kinds, happy, sad and those she wished to never gain. If she only didn't like Mary so much, it wouldn't be that painful.

"After Mary's death," Sherlock continued after a minute, "I was alone. The only company I had was Mrs Hudson, which wasn't that much of a help, to be honest. She felt the tragedy as much as all of us and the thought of her taking care of me on top of all that... was just too much."

Molly nodded, watching Sherlock talking about it so casually like discussing the weather outside. He never talked about Mary if he could avoid it, but now, he brought the topic himself. She wanted to tell him to stop but couldn't. It seemed like if she did, he would never try to talk about it again.

"As I said. When I was alone," he continued, "all kinds of thought ran through my head. I was thinking about everything. I tried to escape to my mind palace, but all of the rooms were filled with Mary, John, Mycroft, Rosie, you... and all I heard from all of you was that it was  _ my _ fault. I know-" he raised his hand when he saw her opening her mouth, "I know that it's not true. Nevertheless, I felt guilty and it all got projected to my mind palace. After another few days, I found myself overthinking just everything. What I was eating, what I've done, what I should've done. What I was feeling."

Sherlock paused, not knowing whether to continue or not. He was never that open with anyone except for John. When John forgave him, they talked. A lot. He shared his feelings, his guilt and everything he was too scared to acknowledge. John did the same and more. John listened. He was like a brother to Sherlock. Sherlock had to admit that John was maybe not the strongest when it came down to solving crimes or coming to a logical conclusion but when the situation required emotional strength, motivation, forgiveness and moral judgement, John was one of the strongest people walking on this Earth, he was sure.

"When Mary died," Molly said, "I was miserable. I still am, but I know why she died and I want you to know," she paused, looking him right in the eyes, "None of us - not even John - has ever really blamed you. Mary was exceptionally strong. She wouldn't do something she wouldn't want to."

Sherlock stayed silent. It sounded too good to be true. He was sure Molly had feelings for him, but he always thought at least a small, tiny part of her hated him. If not for everything he has done, then Mary's death was more than perfect for that. He gave her a small smile and shook his head.

"It's alright Molly, I don't deserve it. And," he said with his eyes filled with despair, "I know for a fact John really hated me back then. I would understand you, feeling the same way."

Molly looked at him furiously. "That is not true at all!"

She shook her head with such a vigour a few strands of her hair fell out of her ponytail. It made her face even more feminine. "You don't know anything. Me and John - we talked. He never really hated you. He was heartbroken - like the rest of us - but he felt it a hundred times stronger." She completely forgot about her food and stood up, pacing around the kitchen. "He lost his wife, Sherlock. Do you know he blamed even me for her death?"

Sherlock sat in silence, watching this miracle of a woman. "What?"

"He said to me that it's my fault."

"How on earth could that be your fault, Molly?" 

"I don't know," she said, her voice low and without any sign of emotion. "But I understand him. He was able to blame anyone. It wasn't meant directly at me, you know. I knew he didn't mean it, we sat and talked so much afterwards. He apologized, over and over again." Molly stopped in front of the kitchen counter and turned her face to Sherlock. "He was miserable. He would blame anyone close to him. But he blamed himself the most. Not me, not you, not the crazy woman. He blamed himself. And the pain was too much he didn't know how to share it. So he blamed us."

There was silence once again. But the message was clear. Sherlock stood up and walked over to her. He wanted to reach for her, touch her, make her feel better. But he didn't do any of those things, he kept his distance and watched her breath slowly. She looked at him, with a knowing look on her face and he smiled. "Do you know why I don't want to leave?"

She shook her head. "I really don't. I don't even know if I want you to stay. It's all too messy."

"I know," he said, taking a step closer. "It's messy for me, too." He took another step. Now he was so close their bodies were almost touching.

"But from the moment you left, I felt like a part of me went with you. You always make me feel-" he mumbled, not knowing how to express himself. "You make me feel like I'm not a villain. And I like that feeling."

"You are not a villain, Sherlock," she said, her eyes locked with his, "at least not in my story."

His breathing became more rapid and he tried to figure out what she was thinking. He took her face in his hands. "Why are you so kind to me? After everything that I've done."

Molly didn't leave his eyes, her breathing steady and slow. She didn't have an answer for that. She could drown in those eyes, which were burning with desire and something else. Something she didn't know Sherlock was able to show. A crazy thought crossed her mind. He was so close to her. If she would get a tiny bit closer, she could taste his lips. That thought made her almost jump.

She took a step aside, leaving Sherlock confused. "What happened? Did I do something?"

"No," Molly said, feeling red all over her face. "I'm gonna use the bathroom."

She left the kitchen abruptly, hoping he would not go after her.

\--

Sherlock watched her leave the kitchen, almost knocking one of the chairs during the process. He wondered what he had done to make her leave so suddenly. She looked almost as if she got burned or something. He rested his hand on the back of his head.

He was so close. He almost told her how he really felt. Why was he such a moron? He couldn't even get it out. He couldn't even say the most important thing. Why did he get so close to her? She was so tiny, so delicate he was afraid if he didn't choose the right words, he would hurt her more. He didn't want to touch her. Sherlock knew she wouldn't do anything she didn't want to, but giving her some freedom was maybe more important to him than it was to her. He could've kissed her. Not as if it didn't cross his mind. But if he would and she wouldn't want to, that would be really uncomfortable.

He wanted her to be his equal. Sherlock hoped he made his position clear, that she knew how he felt and that he wanted her to feel safe. Does she know it? He wasn't sure.

During the day, they didn't really talk about it. He wasn't sure they needed to. She seemed to tolerate his presence. Sherlock was still prepared to leave if she told him to. When he woke up before, she was sleeping soundly. He watched her probably for half an hour. He was determined to leave. Took a taxi, went to Glasgow and found himself craving some coffee. Without thinking, he bought two cups. Without thinking, he bought a small breakfast. Without thinking, he found himself sitting on a bench, watching the things in his hands and wondering why the hell did he buy them when he was leaving. That was when it struck him. He wasn't leaving at all. That is why he remained calm the night before and this morning. He knew he wouldn't leave her.

He walked out of the kitchen and heard Molly in the bathroom. She turned on the water and was probably taking a shower. He wondered what to do. He looked at the armchair. It seemed nowhere as comfortable as the one he had in Bakerstreet but sat in it anyway.

His surprise when his body just sank into the cushions was huge. He completely understood why Molly liked it so much. It was almost as if someone was hugging Sherlock. He shifted a bit and took his phone out of his pocket. There were a few messages.

John texted him something about luck. Sherlock let him know where he was and that Molly wasn't against it. He asked about Rosie and Mrs Hudson. Both of them were healthy and well, according to what John said. There was a message from Mycroft about some case he should attend when he comes back. Nothing urgent, so he put that to the back of his mind.

His mind came back to what happened to Molly before. He wasn't feeling right about this. If someone was really watching her, could it be because of him? There was no denying he still had more than enough enemies. Did he make Molly a target? Could she really get hurt just by being with him? That was something he didn't consider at all. It made him feel sick. Or did Molly have enemies of her own? It was absurd. She was so bright, she was an angel. She helped everyone she knew and asked nothing in return. He couldn't find a reason why anyone would hate her or wanted to hurt her. No, the only reason could be him and the life he was living. Or it could've been just a random stalker. Or maybe not even that. He had to take in all the possibilities. She  _ could've _ just imagined it, but it seemed unlikely. Molly wasn't one to make false assumptions, neither was she famous for creating drama out of nothing.

The thought that he put her in serious danger numerous times before made him want to tear his heart out so it would stop hurting so much. He hated himself at that moment. Why was he so careless? What would he do if she really got hurt in the process of his work?

The water stopped running and he heard quick steps on the upper floor. After a few minutes, Molly came down, her hair wet and wrapped in a towel. She wore a light blue hoodie with trousers of the same colour. She looked like she just fell out of the sky. She was fine, he thought. She was here, healthy, all in one piece after all that they survived. When she saw him sitting in the armchair, she smiled. Her voice was soft when she said: "The bathroom is all yours if you'd like."

Sherlock nodded but didn't get up. Instead, he absent-mindedly put down his phone and watched Molly going to the kitchen. Her presence made him focused only and only on her. Anything else has lost its sense.

As she came back, she was holding a glass of water and put it in front of Sherlock. "You didn't drink anything during dinner."

Then, Sherlock did something that surprised even himself. He grabbed Molly by her hand and pull her into his lap. Molly, not expecting anything like that, fell onto him rather clumsily and pushed him even more into those comfy cushions. She stayed like that for a minute, wondering if she should get up or not. Feeling Sherlock so close was like being wrapped in an invisible aura of warmness and excitement. Her heart rate flew up and she felt the hotness in her face. "What are you-"

"If you want," Sherlock said, covering his face in her hair, inhaling slowly, "you can get up. I won't keep you against your will." Her hair smelled like vanilla. He wondered how did she manage to keep the smell of her so unique and exciting for him. The sweetness of her was like a calm wave, it reminded him of a sunny valley at sunset, caring and peaceful.

He placed his hand on her back, steadying her but leaving her the option of getting up and walking away. It would hurt him but it was important for him that he didn't make her do anything she didn't want to. She sat without a movement for more than a minute. Sherlock took it as a good sign she didn't get up immediately, scolding him. He figured she was weighing her options. Then, Molly surprised him when she slowly traced her hand around his back and rested it on his shoulders. Sherlock let out a sigh and held her even tighter. "I just realized how lucky we all are that you are okay."

Molly was touched by this. She knew she was worthy, but Sherlock rarely made her know that. She smiled and her fingers clutched at his shirt. Sherlock turned his head to face her, enjoying the closeness. He hoped it would last as long as it could. Their faces were now so close, they were a mere inch apart. He could count every lash, every tiny freckle and every little brown spot in her eyes.

They sat like that for a while. Sherlock wondered what she was thinking. He felt himself getting used to this more quickly than he should. He could imagine Molly in his lap late in the evening in Bakerstreet or in her flat, doing just that. Enjoying each other's presence, talking about everyday things or just hugging like that. He smiled for himself and laid his head on her shoulder. Molly's hand stroked his back and exhaled slowly.

"I'm glad you stayed."

Sherlock laughed a little. "I realized I never meant to leave."

"Really?" Molly sounded surprised. "Not even if I asked you right now?"

"Well," Sherlock said and shifted a bit, "if you would be certain about that, I would leave immediately. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable. But no, if you asked me to  _ right now _ , I wouldn't."

"Why?" 

"Because I don't think you want me to."

Molly didn't reply, only smiled for herself. He probably knew her better than she believed. "No, right now, I don't want to be alone."

The smile left her face and she curled her legs up onto Sherlock. It was the most intimate thing they had ever done. But she felt comfortable. He made her feel safe. She didn't mind being alone, but having a person with her all the time was something she didn't mind. Especially if that person was Sherlock.

"Good," Sherlock said, his head not leaving her shoulder, "I'm not going anywhere."

Molly felt a tiny spark inside of her, a small tingle of happiness that started to blossom inside of her. That was all she was craving. Sherlock was there with her, keeping her warm and safe. It was something she didn't think would ever happen, even in her wildest dreams. "I can't believe it."

"What can't you believe?" 

Molly didn't realize she said it out loud and shifted uncomfortably. Sherlock looked at her. "What is it?"

"This is just something new for me," Molly admitted. There was no way around it with Sherlock. She didn't want him to feel like she didn't enjoy his presence, but she couldn't pretend it was all too sudden.

"It's new to me, too," Sherlock said with a smile. "But I wanted to thank you."

"For what?" said Molly.

"For not trying to avoid me. I know I would deserve it if you did."

There was more to it. Molly knew. She had all the right to send him away, to be mad, to be disappointed and not to talk to him ever again. And yet, there she was, curled up in his lap and feeling more relaxed than she ever was. "I don't think I am strong enough to do that."

"Of course you are," Sherlock contradicted her, surprised. "You are one of the strongest women I've ever known."

"Stronger than Irene?"

Sherlock was silent. He didn't expect her to bring Irene Adler up. Molly saw that he didn't want to answer her immediately. She got up. Sherlock didn't like the sudden emptiness she left behind.

"It's okay, Sherlock. I don't know why I mentioned her."

"You are stronger than her," he said plainly. That declaration made Molly stop in her tracks. Sherlock continued. "Irene  _ is _ a strong woman. She knows her way around, she knows how to survive. But her pride sometimes gets the best of her."

While Sherlock was talking, he also got up from the armchair. "You are different. It's a different kind of strength you possess. You are kind, you are helpful. You are selfless, incredibly smart. Your weakness is that you always see the best in people. But you are compassionate. At the morgue, your work is efficient and you won't let any crime slide. You can survive more bad things than others, which I admire and don't get at the same time."

He walked closer and closer to her. As he closed the distance between them, Molly turned away. She was touched by Sherlock's words and didn't want him to know how much power he had over her.

"We should get some sleep."

Sherlock watched her walk past him and he was left wondering what on earth had he done now. He sighed and went over to the sofa, watching as Molly positioned herself in the armchair.

Without any other words, he waited until she fell asleep. Then he slowly got up, took the blanket she gave him earlier and laid it on her. She was one hell of a woman. No one else made him so confused. He chuckled and as he laid down on the sofa again, he figured she was more interesting and more complicated than any case he ever had. 


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning was filled with blissful ignorance. Neither Molly nor Sherlock were discussing the topics of the previous day and both spent their mornings thinking. There was a kind of complimenting silence which both of them valued just as much as an interesting conversation. Molly thought how much different Sherlock was here than in London. Maybe it was because Molly was the only one he knew in this place, although Molly wasn't entirely sure. One never knew with Sherlock. She realized she never asked about his distant family or if he was in contact with anyone outside the city. It was something that had her great interest even though she doubted he would tell her anything.

After an hour or so she decided to take a walk. But this time, she actually didn't want to go alone. She asked Sherlock to join her and he agreed. As they walked the path Molly chose - she knew it there better after all - they started talking. They talked about the weather, about their plans for the later and mostly laughed and joked around each other. It was very enjoyable and Molly felt her body absorbing every single drop of Sherlock's good attitude as well as every single drop of the sunshine.

"Molly," Sherlock turned around to face her, "When do you plan to go back?"

That killed the atmosphere completely. Molly didn't want to talk about that. She didn't want to admit how much she loved it there. She didn't want to admit she still had a job and a life far away from there. A life she was bound to return to. A few days had already passed and she found the time she would have to come back dreadful. It was too soon, too close.

"I don't know, Sherlock." That was all she was able to say to that topic.

"Do you even want to go back?"

Molly let out a sigh. "May I be honest?"

"Of course, Molly. Always."

The road suddenly opened, giving him a view of what appeared to be a golden field that stretched far to the horizon. Trees lined it, almost leafless, forming a kind of fence, a gateway between earth and sky. He looked at Molly. This place suited her perfectly.

Molly smiled, sadly. "I love it here. I didn't expect it myself, but I truly do. And no, I don't want to go back. At least not now."

Sherlock only nodded. Molly had a weird feeling that maybe, maybe he understood. "What do you think I should do?"

Sherlock smiled. "I don't think it's my place to-"

"You're giving advice. An opinion. Nothing more, so go on."

"Okay," Sherlock's eyes were locked somewhere in front of him. The trees that lined the road gave a pleasant shadow that was of various shapes and moved with the movement of the branches the wind played with.

"You should take in all the options you have. If you would decide to stay," he said with a voice he usually used when explaining something, "You would have to take care of your job at Bart's. I'm sure you would have no problem finding a job there somewhere, probably in Glasgow since I don't think these small villages here actually have any labs. In that case, you would do the work you love and still stay in the countryside. The downside of this," he paused for a moment, "The downside of it all is leaving your life in London. Completely. Even though I'm sure John would come with Rosie for a visit, you can't expect them to see them as often as you do in London. Mrs Hudson would be devastated, but as long as you give her a call once or twice a week, she would be fine. Your friends would be sad, but that is the price of leaving after creating such a bond."

He paused, waiting for some reaction. Molly just walked beside him and stared in front of her, his words clearly getting to her with all the depth they had. So he continued.

"Also," he gulped, "I have to admit, I've never seen you so happy. You seem to fit in there just like a fish belongs to the water. But I wonder," he stopped and took Molly by the hand, "Do you hate London that much?"

Molly stopped, looking at their locked hands at first and then replying.

"I don't hate London, but," she smiled sadly, "I don't feel as much of love for the city as you do. For me, it is a place where I work, where I moved after my grandma passed away. A place where my adulthood began and my childhood ended. Of course, I have happy memories of life there, but I also have sad ones. Would it be so selfish of me not wanting to return?"

Sherlock nodded, brushing the knuckles of her hand with his thumb. "I don't think it's selfish at all. It's your decision. But," he said and let go of her hand, "I shall miss you terribly."

Molly's eyes flew up to his, wanting to say something, but he already began walking again and she was left with no choice but to follow him. There was silence once again, this time filled with so much that was unsaid. Molly didn't know how to react to all of this, Sherlock on the other didn't know how to express his fear of her leaving him. They both tried to come up with some words that would make sense, but one minute they thought they had it and turned to each other, looking at their faces made all the words go away. So they just walked, desperate to deepen the connection they created over the few days they've been together.

"Do you know what I think?" Sherlock said suddenly.

"What?"

"Please, don't take this as if I'm trying to keep you in London, I will respect whatever you choose," he said with an urgency Molly didn't recognize. "But why do you think this place has such an impact on you?"

Molly thought for a few minutes before answering. "Because it was a long time since I've been there."

"Exactly." 

"What do you mean?"

"Now, try to remember the feeling you had when you came to London."

Molly was confused. When she came to London, it was a long time ago. She didn't know what was the meaning behind this question. However, she let herself come back to the time she moved to London. 

The sun shone through the branches, making beautiful patterns on the ground. The wind rustled through the dried grass that had formed a golden carpet here during this time of the year. The sky was as blue as a fairy tale, clear and cloudless. It was almost as if it was calling on Molly to keep her thoughts as pure and just let the wind carry her mind as it did with her hair.

And that's when it struck her. She was  _ happy _ . When she came to London, she was happy. It was a place of her own. It was her escape from all the sad memories of her grandma. It was a place that embraced her, gave her opportunities and took her under its wings. London took care of her, it made her stronger and let her find some of the most amazing feeling she ever had. It was a place she, after all these years, forgot to cherish and forgot to be grateful for. It slowly became her home.

She looked at Sherlock. He was watching her intensely. He  _ knew _ . He knew she loved it there. And he knew she loved the change of scenery she got here.

"You're right. I think," she smiled, "I love it here because it holds good memories and it's a part of my life. Just as much as London is."

Sherlock smiled at her. "Still, if you would like to stay here, no one could say anything against it. But I think this place is so special partly because you visit it so little. I'm not saying you should go there once a year. But can you be sure you would not get bored if you lived there after a few years?"

Molly thought about that before. She hated to admit that he was right. She was sure if she would settle there, this place would turn into a second London for her. A place she knows but is tired of. But she suppressed those thoughts because it would ruin her plans of actually staying here. So she only nodded.

Maybe all it took was for her to remember the good things she still had in London. Maybe if she would have someone who would teach her how to be grateful for all she has, she would be happy. And she could always come here if things got too serious or she just wanted to go away. It sounded too good to be true.

"I will definitely think about it more." She said, taking Sherlock by the hand, surprising him. It was the first thing  _ she _ initiated. She let herself be vulnerable. It was a huge step for her.

He squeezed her hand in return and they both continued walking, smiling at each other.

\--

"We have nothing to eat."

Sherlock was standing in the kitchen. It was late evening and he was hungry. He heard Molly laugh from the living room. 

"Only if someone didn't eat everything we had for lunch, am I right? What a bummer."

Sherlock went to the living room, finding her laughing behind her book. He frowned at her. "It's not my fault your cooking skills are so good."

Molly smiled. "You can go and buy some vegetable."

"It's 9 P.M."

"So?"

"Molly were in a  _ village _ . An old village."

"So?" 

"So?" Sherlock exclaimed. "I don't think there will be anything open at this time."

That's when he realized. She was teasing him. She curled up on the sofa and laughed. His face got a slight shade of red. He threw his hands up in the air and said resolutely, "What shall we do, then?"

After Molly regained her posture, she offered to order something. They agreed on getting Chinese and Molly called the delivery. After an hour or so, her phone rang.

"Hello? Yes, it's right around the corner. At the end of it. Oh-" She was replying to the delivery man in a hurry, "Would it help if I would go outside? Yes. Uhuh. Okay, I'm on my way."

Then she turned to Sherlock. "He can't find the house. I'm gonna go and meet him. Be right back."

"Shouldn't I go?"

"No, it's fine. You can make some tea in the meantime."

She put on her jacket and ran outside, just in her trousers and slippers. She squeezed the phone in her hand and looked around the street, but there was no sign of a car or any man at all. She sighed, thinking the delivery guy must be much far away than he described. She only hoped he was in the right village.

She put her arms around her and began walking towards the centre of the village, checking her phone every few seconds. She grunted as her slippers weren't exactly ideal footwear for this. She was getting cold and was praying Sherlock didn't forget to make the tea.

She walked for more than five minutes when she finally saw a car, standing at the end of one of the streets. She recognized the logo of the restaurant and waved at the guy, happy she finally found him. She walked towards the car, preparing the money. As she counted the bills, wondering how much she should tip him when he wasn't even able to find the address, she didn't realize what was happening.

It all happened so fast she wasn't sure it was real. Suddenly the guy - who was still in the car the minute she took her wallet out - was standing behind her, putting his large hand over her mouth. She tried to kick him, but it was pointless. He was much stronger than her and she found herself fidgeting in his arms without a sign of him letting her go. Her mind raced, she wanted to scream and cry, she wanted to bite his hand and punch him in the face, anything that would get her away from him. But her muffled voice wasn't going to bring any attention to anyone here. He pushed her forward, trying to get her into the car. Molly's eyes were filled with terror and tears - inside of the car wasn't any food or anything that would at least give the impression of it being a delivery car - there was a rope. 

She managed to get her feet against the car door, desperately trying to break free of the man's grip. But suddenly the man's attentions subsided and she managed to get away from him. As she turned and considered whether to run or punch him in the face - the latter, despite her fear, appealed to her more - she found that none of this was necessary. The man lay on the ground, his hands covering his face as he roared like a madman.

Sherlock stood over him, his hands bloody and his face frantic. He grabbed the man's coat and held out his hand again. 

"Sherlock!" Molly screamed. 

That was all it took. Sherlock stared at her, which the man took advantage of and tossed Sherlock aside. In an instant, he got into the car quickly, and all Molly could hear was the screeching of tires. She ran to Sherlock to help him get up. "Are you okay?"

"Are  _ you _ okay? Molly," Sherlock pulled her into a giant hug. He squeezed her tightly, brushing her hair, his hands all over her body, taking a pause on her face, making sure she was unhurt. 

"I'm fine," Molly said, putting her hands on top of his, taking them away. "Who was it?"

"I don't know, I didn't recognize him. But I remember the car."

They were both breathing heavily. Molly pulled Sherlock into another hug. "Thank you."

"I was watching you, you were gone for too long. I'm sorry I was late."

Molly just shook her head. "I think you were right on time." And then she started crying.

He didn't reply, but brushed her back and inhaled the smell of her hair. He realized she was trembling, not knowing whether it was from fear or the cold. "Shh, it's all okay now, I'm here. Don't be afraid."

Molly tried to calm herself down. She was terrified. Her brain didn't even start to comprehend what was happening. She didn't want to think about it. The fear of getting into that situation again was something that made her want to jump out of her skin. But Sherlock's touch was so calming and safe. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry but knew she would make him even more worried. So she made a vow to put herself together once they got home.

"Let's go, you're trembling. I'll keep you safe."

\--

"Do you know who it might be?" Sherlock asked once Molly was already calm, with a cup of tea in her hands. How quickly she recovered - he never knew. She was an amazing woman, he realized once again. "Wasn't it the same person who was watching you?"

"I don't know, Sherlock, I wish I knew." She replied, holding her cup with a sudden force. "I don't know how either of those two looked like. But this man," she shook slightly, "This man was  _ huge _ ."

"I agree," Sherlock nodded, "He almost reminded me of Golem."

"Golem?"

"Oh, nothing," Sherlock waved his hand. Molly didn't need to know every horror he had to encounter. "I was just wondering if there is a connection."

Molly shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. She was still terrified but didn't want to let Sherlock know. "I'm gonna go and take a shower."

"Molly, wait." Sherlock stood up and in two large steps found himself standing in front of her. He didn't know what has gotten into him so suddenly. But the fear of losing her, the fear of her getting harmed by someone was something that set his rage on fire. But seeing her, staying so strong despite all of this, despite being in one of the most fearful situations there is for a woman to be, he couldn't help himself.

He kissed her.

\--

It wasn't as if she didn't know how to kiss, but Molly was so shocked by Sherlock's actions that she was frozen for a moment. His hand was on her cheek, holding her softly, but dominantly towards him. His breathing was calm and steady, giving away a feeling of reassurance and that it wasn't just a spontaneous kiss that happened randomly. He felt his heart aching, her smell made his mind run blank and there was only one thought in his mind: she was his to be protected. And he wanted to make her sure she was safe with him. It made him smile between the kisses. He moved his hand further down to her neck and pulled her closer.

Molly came back to herself and her hands went directly into his hair as she opened her mouth to him. She felt his curls in her fingers and couldn't help but moan into his mouth. 

There was something exciting and calming about the kiss at the same time. Molly felt how something warm spread from her chest and went down through her whole body. She wanted to feel as close to him as it was possible. After what just happened to her, this was the exact kind of release she wanted, no, she  _ needed _ . Their tongues were dancing with each other, almost like in a fight.

Sherlock was astonished. Molly was kissing him back with the same urgency as himself. He was afraid for a while if it wasn't too much for her, after all, she just survived a pretty scary situation. But there she was, and as she attempted to move even closer, he supported her decision by stroking her back softly and then abruptly pulling her close. His hand was steadying her as she didn't expect this sudden movement, but she didn't pull away. Her hand was stroking his hair and the other was around his shoulders. She was tense. They were glued together as if they were never to peel off and wanted to merge into one body.

Their breathing became heavier and heavier. Sherlock loved the feeling of Molly's face so near to his, her skin touching his, her hands making him feel like this. He wanted her, he wanted the whole of her. This wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough.

Suddenly, he lifted Molly sharply into the air and supported her with his hands. He longed to feel her as close as possible. Molly didn't fight back, almost as if welcoming his movements and his growing passion. 

He didn't know how he made it to the bedroom with Molly kissing him urgently. He was afraid they would fall on the steps, but her passion somehow made his body more skilled and protective. Molly suddenly felt a sharp pain as Sherlock pushed her against the wall. It was just another proof for her to kiss him even more passionately, yet Sherlock tried to pull away to ask if he had hurt her. Molly wouldn't let him and tried to give him an answer with her kiss she was okay, more than okay. Sherlock understood and groaned as he began to press his body against Molly.

She felt that her clothes were becoming an obstacle at the moment. Molly longed to feel his skin on her skin. His embrace almost aroused animal ecstasy in her, longing to release the gripping pain that spread throughout her lower body. Her fingers moved from his hair and back to his shirt and began to unbutton her button by button. At other times, the methodological approach gained chaos and impatience. Sherlock made a sound that clearly expressed his displeasure at the loss of contact, yet he still hugged and kissed her, pinned to the wall. When he finally understood what Molly was doing, his warm lips began to move from her mouth to cheeks to her neck. Molly groaned, her hands forgetting to unbutton his shirt. She turned her head to the other side to give him better access and enjoyed the sweet anguish she had voluntarily submitted to.

Molly was beginning to lose patience, and with a single move, she unbuttoned the rest of Sherlock's shirt. She felt his smile against her skin and his breath becoming sharp. As he pulled away, his hands searching the hem of her sweater, Molly was mesmerized by the look she had. She knew that Sherlock had an alabaster-like masculine body and skin, yet she didn't expect the muscles and veins that loomed in his chest and arms. Thank God she wrapped her legs around his waist because she felt her muscles turn to gelatin.

Sherlock stood still, leaned over and gave her a deep kiss on the lips. His hands wrapped around her neck and slowly began to slide down her hands to her fingers during the kiss. For just a second, their hands intertwined before Sherlock gently lifted them over Molly's head. With this movement, Molly suddenly felt him pull her sweater over her head.

His movements were gentle, yet full, and Molly could feel the weight of each. The sensitivity with which Sherlock tried to make Molly feel good, the care with which he made it clear to her that this meant more than just releasing the tension the two of them had felt lately made her feel something other than burning desire.

Their eyes met. They both thought the same thing, Sherlock knew. The certainty he had never felt before supported him in what he had done. As if on command, Molly pressed herself against him with her whole body, and his body responded by squeezing her waist. Still, with Molly lifted into the air and leaning against the wall, they both felt the warmth they were radiating. Sherlock supported Molly more and carried her to the bed, but did not lay her down. Instead, he sat down and Molly found herself on his lap, still with her legs clasped around his waist. Their skin touched as much as possible, and they enjoyed the other's sudden presence.

Sherlock moved his hands to Molly's pants and began to unzip. Molly did the same. They both acted as a mirror image of each other, in perfect sync. Molly felt that Sherlock was as eager as she was. She was determined to free herself from his suffering as soon as possible, and with experienced movements, she unzipped his pants and gripped his cock in her hands.

Sherlock groaned in Molly's ears, and his hands gripped Molly in the most sensitive place in response. Molly tilted her head in that sweet agony and her spine arched, which came in handy for Sherlock, who laid on his back and pulled Molly with her as she lay on top of him.

His hands stroked Molly's back, giving her courage and confidence as she suddenly pulled away from him and pulled his pants off and threw them to the ground. He flexed his legs and raised his head when he suddenly felt Molly's smooth legs rub against his. She probably had to take off her pants without him noticing it. He felt her weight on his body, which was the most amazing feeling in the world. As her hands tightened around his cock, ecstasy passed through his body, which only Molly could evoke.

He realized the game Molly was playing and was determined not to give up so easily, even though his body begged his mind not to be so competitive. Sherlock made a sharp move. His firm hands lifted Molly into the air and pinned her body beneath him. He spread her legs with his hands and moved his head from her mouth across her neck to her chest. In a smooth motion, he lifted her and unbuttoned her bra, which he threw to the ground.

He remained raised above her for a moment, admiring her smooth skin and round breasts, which were now exposed to him. Molly whimpered as Sherlock bent down and took her right breast first and then her left breast in his mouth. Her nipples hardened and she used her hands to find Sherlock's shoulders and dug her fingernails into them. Sherlock didn't stop, and she was beginning to think she might be going crazy. He smiled against her skin and began to head down, across her stomach to her place. He began circling his tongue around the cunt and she began to moan. Sherlock smiled and stroked her thighs with his hands.

Molly tried to pull Sherlock back, her legs clenching and her toes beginning to tremble. But Sherlock was adamant and did not stop, and she closed her eyes in anticipation and moaned loudly. When she thought she couldn't stand it, she suddenly felt him pull away, but not for long. After a second she felt a strong pressure as he pushed himself into her vagina. This forced her to make an animal roar, which seemed to encourage Sherlock as he began to thrust into her. With each push, he got deeper and deeper into her, which drove her crazy.

Her breathing became erratic. Sherlock still pinned her body to the bed and pressed his mouth to hers, preventing her from moaning. The way he claimed her body and manifested its dominant part made Molly's body begin to respond with tremors and flutters. Her nerves seemed to be flooded with fire, and she began to feel a soft tickle spilling over her body.

Sherlock changed the position where Molly found herself on his lap without breaking the contact they had.

Molly felt it was an opportunity, and her body, which at the moment was like a time bomb, began to move in a rapid rhythm. Now Sherlock joined in a moan, and the two, equal, slowly began to approach the finish line.

Their breaths complemented each other, there was no room for kisses, and they just passionately gripped each other in the sharp movements created by their bodies.

Neither of them dealt with what was happening around them. Sherlock pushed himself into Molly for the last time and Molly moaned loudly, her hands gripping Sherlock's hair and her nails digging into them. Her toes curled and she felt the overwhelming ecstasy beginning to spread through her whole body.


End file.
